


All Of A Sudden, I Miss Everyone

by Heroesareoverwith



Series: Explosions In The Sky [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bugs, Canon gory when they take down the baddie, Good Peter, I Will Go Down With This Ship, I am ignoring season 4 completely btw, I don't even know what to tag right now, Like insect bugs, M/M, Magic Stiles, Maybe - Freeform, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Shifting Points of View, Slow Burn, Sorry Not Sorry, Steter - Freeform, This Is The Start Of A Series, and blood, idk - Freeform, if you are squeamish of them, kinda gory I guess?, like...slow burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-01
Updated: 2015-03-21
Packaged: 2018-03-10 01:45:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 29,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3272189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heroesareoverwith/pseuds/Heroesareoverwith
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Alpha Pack drained everyone.  Then everyone started drifting apart.  Now aware of the dangers his son had been putting himself through, Sheriff Stilinski wants Stiles to get out of Beacon Hills.  Stiles doesn't really fight him.  He leaves for college early, not entirely upset with this new scenery.  Just as Stiles is starting to settle in, a ghost from his very recent past resurfaces at his college.  And really, he is pissed about it.  He left Beacon Hills to get away from monsters, and yet somehow they continue to find him.</p><p>~~~</p><p>Stiles hadn't been in Beacon Hills for five months.  Up until a month ago, he had barely interacted with someone from Beacon Hills.  So he would really appreciate it if the world would cut the stupid, dramatic irony bullshit, and explain to him a scenario in which it made sense that he would turn the corner in his new, favorite bookstore to see Peter Fucking Hale standing in the aisle, looking at The Prince and smirking like the fucking Ghost of Horrible, V-Neck Wearing, Douchebag Werewolf Filled Past.</p><p>Stiles is absolutely done with the universe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Welcome Ghosts

**Author's Note:**

> Hey Everyone! I realize I haven't finished my other story yet but I have the idea for this one and I am starting it. It's Steter, and I kind of like Steter more than Sterek...so... This will (if all goes according to plan) be a five part series, this being the first part. I don't know how quickly I will be able to update so I apologize in advance if it takes me a bit between parts. Either way, I hope you enjoy! It is totally canon divergent but like, canon doesn't even matter (so it'll be just like the show).
> 
> All of the titles (the series name, the work titles, the chapter titles) are all taken from the band Explosions in the Sky. They were all I listened to, as well as the inspiration for this piece. They're an amazing band, so I do advise a listen!
> 
> All of the characters belong to Teen Wolf, except Jaylen and Thomas who are two of my characters.

Stiles hadn't been in Beacon Hills for five months. Up until a month ago, he had barely interacted with someone from Beacon Hills. So he would _really_ appreciate it if the world would cut the stupid, dramatic irony bullshit, and explain to him a scenario in which it made sense that he would turn the corner in his new, favorite bookstore to see Peter Fucking Hale standing in the aisle, looking at _The Prince_ and smirking like the fucking Ghost of Horrible, V-Neck Wearing, Douchebag Werewolf Filled Past.

Stiles is absolutely done with the universe.  
~~~  
No one had been the same, really. After the events with the Alpha Pack, Beacon Hills wasn't really the same. No one particularly wanted to talk about it. The threat was gone, but a multitude of other problems began to hover in the air or linger just below the surface of the town. Beacon Hills was a beacon again, and no one really knew what that meant. And no one really cared to be honest.

Derek disappeared. No one really asked questions, so again, no one really talked about it, or even talked about trying to find him. Scott assumed that if he wanted to come back, he would. Losing two members of the pack took its toll on everyone, but Derek had been the reason Boyd was dead, it made sense for him to leave. No one questioned Cora following him. It was natural that if Derek disappeared, the Hales would too. No one realized Peter was gone too. Well, almost no one.

In the past few years, Stiles had gotten accustomed to running for his life and defending the people he loved. He had gotten used to messed up situations, and coming up with plans to save everyone's skins. And sure, he was still doing that to a point. Beacon Hills still seemed to pull up a new monster every few months, but it was nothing that they couldn't handle after the Alpha Pack. Scott was Alpha now after all. But that pack was smaller. A lot smaller.

While no one really discussed the loss of the Hales, the loss of Erica and Boyd, everyone still felt it. There was a silence that came over all of them when someone accidentally brought up a funny thing Erica said, or that one time Isaac noticed Derek even managed to brood in his sleep. Sure, they had Aiden and Ethan or whatever, but Stiles never really warmed up to them. Everyone else seemed to at least accept them, mainly for Danny and Lydia's sake, but Stiles didn't care.

He drifted. It wasn't like he meant to, or even wanted to, but he drifted. When his dad found out just how much of his research wasn't really for school, and was in fact for a supernatural secret life, he wasn't too glad. He wanted Stiles to study, he wanted Stiles to get good enough grades to get a scholarship and go to college. The man started pushing college brochures at him left and right, asking if he had started his resume yet, and trying to give him little tips to point him toward a less dangerous life. How could he disappoint his dad even more? 

It wasn't impossibly hard to drift anyway, when Stiles felt like he was holding onto his friendships like they were smoke.

In some horrible cosmic joke, everyone seemed paired off in some way. It wasn't hard to see it. Just sitting at the lunch table made it obvious. Scott was constantly with Allison, repairing what they had lost there. Lydia and Aiden, Danny and Ethan. Sure, there was Isaac, but Stiles had about the same desire to kiss Isaac as he had the desire to make out with Mr. Harris. (You know, a maybe sort of situation like, they were both going to die if they didn't kiss right that second! But other than that, no...no, no, never.) And as lonely as Stiles might be, there was no way that was happening. He and Isaac barely got along on a good day, and there was no way the guy could keep up with Stiles' humor. Besides, it he was always texting someone with this...big, stupid grin on his face. So he was probably seeing someone the pack didn't know.

Whatever, none of it really mattered.

It was just…everyone knew about Erica and Boyd, but the two of them still made time for people who weren’t a part of their relationship. Why was it so hard for the others? Really, double dates could not be _that_ interesting.

Either way, in summation, the pack just wasn't as close as they used to be, barely coming together for pack meetings, let alone dealing with the supernatural stuff happening in the town. Sure, they took care of it, but if they actually worked together, they probably all could have avoided some broken bones.

It was weird to think that Derek was the dysfunctional glue that had held them together before.

Stiles didn't tell anyone that he had been loading up on his classes. He and Lydia took senior classes their junior year instead, but he didn't think Lydia was also working on some courses that had college credit. She wanted to stay. And Stiles, well, Stiles never told them that he had applied to college early.

No one ever said anything about his absence; they were pretty wrapped up with their own stuff. Which was cool, it was fine. But even if they did notice, they never said anything. Whatever, it was fine.

He graduated a year early.

Call him a coward, but he didn't even tell the others he was leaving. They knew he graduated, but they probably assumed he would work the year and then go. Kind of dense of them. But his father was beyond excited though, which in the end made it worth it.

Worth it until dad (the absolute traitor) totally spilled the beans to Melissa who, wonderful woman that she was (she baked him brownies), told Scott. He received an angry call the night before he left (as well as his fresh brownies, you know he really wouldn't mind if Melissa and his dad got hitched, because he could super get used to these brownies all the time, and maybe Scott would notice a bit more if they were actually brothers. Now he was just getting all melodramatic, ugh). When did his closest friendship turn into such a joke?

It wasn’t like some big epiphany. Scott didn’t realize just how little an amount of time he and Stiles had been spending together lately, and it wasn’t like Stiles bared his soul. Scott used to be the only person to make him feel better, used to be his best friend, his bro for life. That weird saying about friendships fading, about people growing out of each other, it never seemed to be a possibility.

So why was it, when Scott was begging for an explanation, that Stiles shrugged on the other end, forgetting his best friend couldn’t see him, while he ran his fingers nervously over his flannel sleeve? Why couldn’t he just give him an answer? Stiles didn’t cry because Scott didn’t cry. They just sat and listened to each other breathe for the better part of a half hour before Stiles sighed out shakily, “it’s just what I have to do.” And hung up.

Heart aching openly in his chest aside, Stiles began packing his things (because putting everything off til the last minute was preferable, you know, ignore the responsibility and all that, but it was a great distraction from feeling sorry for himself). It wasn't like he was bringing a lot, really. Just clothes, a couple of personal things, some knick-knacks. The dorm wasn't a big place, so it wasn't like he could bring his whole room as much as he wanted to.

The biggest issue with packing, however, was what books he was going to bring. Stiles had tons of them, and he had only accumulated more as time continued with the supernatural research. He skimmed his fingers over the bindings, looked for the ones that were most immediately important, or ones that were old favorites. (Was it really necessary to take books that were about the shedding patterns of kanimas? Probably not.)

While skimming the shelves, Stiles ran his fingers across the binding of a small book he didn't actually remember getting, as a gift or purchasing. It was leather bound, and definitely, ridiculously old. 

When he removed it from the shelf, he had to blow dust off the cover. 

Squinting, he looked for a title, but there were only a couple of symbols and an odd, worn, etching. But there was something about the book that felt electrifying. His fingertips felt warm when they opened the book, ran along the first few pages.

There were words, which was per the course, obviously, but they weren't English. They barely even seemed like they had breaks. It seemed more like someone took a bunch of letters and decided to string them together. Stiles would assume it was gibberish, but it seemed like they were trying to communicate something, especially since each page was also decorated with symbols and pictures. Some were particularly…gruesome.

As he closed it, Stiles began to turn the book over in his hands. How did it even get there?

Then he saw it. There was a small corner of a piece of paper sticking out from between two pages. He slowly pulled it out, curly, smooth, scrawling cursive written on a piece of thick paper. All it said was, " _A book of mine that would serve you much better. I expect you to use it, and use it well._ "

After staring at it for a few moments, Stiles glanced up to his window, trying to think of the several times he had come home to find his window open and had assumed it to be the work of werewolves. None of those times he had ever found anything taken, but he had never found anything left either.

"Who the fuck..." he mumbled to himself before standing up, book in hand. "Of course, because why wouldn't this happen to me? Why wouldn't one of them just leave random, useless, indecipherable bullshit in my room?"

But it wasn't Derek's hand writing (that was a scribbled mess he never tried to figure out), and it certainly wasn't Scott. So was it...no way. No way would Peter leave him a book. Peter, while super allusive and cryptic, barely registered that Stiles was a presence in his life, not even close to a blip on the radar. So maybe Cora? Hell, even fucking Deucalion, Stiles wouldn't put it past him really.

Maybe...

The teen glanced over the pages once again, trying to piece together the symbols, make some sense of them, and the heat in his fingertips when the realization hit him hard. It was a punch to his gut that made him stumble to sit down on his bed. He was holding a book of magic. He was holding a book of magic, and it was probably given to him by one of the two people that knew magic in this town. And it definitely wasn't Deaton.

Jennifer Blake, former English teacher and psychotic, serial killing Darach, must have left him a book. A book of magic.

He dropped it like it was on fire, with no intention to ever pick it up again.

Except an hour later, curiosity got the better of him, and he shoved the book into a tote with the others. He would forget about it, whatever, didn't matter.

He wasn't about to use magic, right? He didn’t even have the power. He had never set a python on his cousin, and he had never spontaneously grown his hair back out after a bad haircut. No magic, see?

He made himself forget about it.

For the most part, packing wasn't that big of a hassle after that. Neither was getting to the university, although his father kept switching between attempts at a heartfelt goodbye and awkward, stiff silences. Goodbyes were hard. Hell, they both cried when they finally hugged each other, all of Stiles' stuff stacked up in the dorm room.

It felt like a mistake, being there. Or maybe it just felt hollow. He and Scott had planned to room together in college since they knew that they could. But it wasn’t his stuff that Stiles was seeing on the other side of the room. It ached thinking back to their last conversation.

But the emotion was pulled off quickly (or at least he made himself pull it off quickly), and Stiles immersed himself in whatever he could. Studying, parties, classes. He didn't talk to anyone that texted him from Beacon Hills, well except his dad. And he made new friends, or at least he felt like it. There were a couple of people that he forced into conversations, and they laughed awkwardly together and more fit because they were all terrified freshmen with no friends rather than they actually got along together.

But it worked, oddly enough. The parties got old, and he stopped going. Why waste a scholarship anyway, right? He tended to stick with people who wanted to go and study, rather than just go out all the time. Really, what was the point of going out if you couldn't remember? He didn't want to forget his entire freshmen year. And as much as he ached to be touched in high school, he could only handle so many emotionless, sloppy make out sessions. He was too nervous to make anything go further than an awkward handjob or blowjob. He was technically still a virgin, after all.

He called his dad almost every night, told him everything was fine and he was doing great. Stiles was loud and personable, and always seemed to fit himself into the lives of people around him, so his dad didn't really have any worries.

Stiles discovered the book store a few weeks into the year. He decided to stay after class and talk to his professor a few minutes, and his professor suggested going to look for books there. He also mentioned that it was a great place to get away from the university. So Stiles went to try it out.

Honestly, it was like heaven. The first day he went there, he ended up getting four coffees and just reading for half the day. He got all his homework done, as well as caught up on the news happening in Beacon Hills. The Lacrosse team was undefeated. There was a body found mangled in the woods, again. Everything was completely normal at home, except he wasn't there.

It felt like an out of body experience.

The bookstore became a staple in his life, to the point he ended up knowing all of the workers, and they didn't mind that he didn't necessarily buy most of the books he read. One of the cashiers and him actually started to become fairly good friends. She was a quiet girl who had grown up in a big family and felt out of place being out on her own too. Except she was a sophomore. 

Her name was Jaylen, and she was absolutely beautiful (How did he always manage to befriend models? Seriously?), with long, beautiful braids always in a bun on her head, and light brown skin. She wore thick framed glasses that just fit so well into the bookstore worker look it was adorable. But the best part about her was that she had a weird sense of humor that totally clicked with Stiles', when she actually felt like talking.

She was kind of like Derek in that aspect, not much of a talker, more of a listener. And her smiles were _rare_.

Jaylen introduced him to Thomas (who looked a little like Dean Thomas, haha the irony), and the two of them were a weird friendship made in heaven. Thomas was tall and lanky just like him, and could normally not take a situation seriously to save the life of him. How he and Jaylen fit together, he had no idea. (A weird part of their connection reminded him of Boyd and Erica, which just kind of stung; he didn’t think about it.) But they didn't flaunt their relationship to the world, which he kind of liked. They both liked spending time with him individually.

Oh, and the both of them had a craving for adventure. Stiles imagined they would probably do very well facing hordes of werewolves and kanimas.

So it kind of just fit, and it became a habit.

Stiles and Thomas spent most of their time together outside of the bookstore where they could joke around, and the moment they were inside they were silent. (An angry Jaylen was a terrifying thing. Really, she and Lydia would probably get along. And Cora. Or anybody whose eyes seemed to light on fire with a rage bubbling underneath that could probably light the fires of hell. God, she was frightening.)

Time flew, and Stiles found himself staring down the long winter break just a few weeks away. He had finally sent a text or two to Lydia in November, saying he wouldn’t be available much during Thanksgiving, but Christmas break might be different. The wait was almost as nerve-wracking as the final exams the weeks after the break were sure to be. She had almost sounded indifferent. Almost.

The thought of seeing the pack made him both excited, and absolutely terrified.

Stiles spent more time at the bookstore (hiding) studying.

~~~  
"I am cutting you off," Jaylen announced one day as Stiles finished his fourth coffee, the cup just leaving his lips.

"But--" He began whining, stretching his arms over the table in exaggeration. "It's _necessary_ for my survival. Jay, seriously, you can't be this cruel. I have _exams_ I have to do! Ones that my degree bank on"

She looked incredibly unconvinced, arms crossing over her chest; eye's staring out at him from behind her glasses like he was the least interesting thing in the store. (False, the least interesting thing in the store was the books on growing your own grass garden, like seriously, what the hell?)

"Ruthless. You are possibly the most cold-blooded person I have ever met, and I know some bad ones," he mumbled with no real heat, slowly getting up from the table and moving toward the classic literature section, the topic of his first exam paper.

"And yet you still darken my doorstep every day, praising my coffee and begging me for free cookies," Jaylen answered, and god damnit, there was no way Stiles could not crack a smile at that. She just sounded so absolutely bored with everything it--it was beautiful.

Out of the corner of his eyes, he caught Thomas walk in and go peck Jaylen on the cheek (she waved him off with a fond eye roll) before settling at Stiles' table. He smirked, excited to just grab a book he needed before heading back to the table when he turned the corner.

No, it was not like turning the corner every other time he had in this store. Stiles knew this store like the back of his hand, and for some reason he was filled with a sudden _anticipation_ when he turned the corner this time.

It was the man's shoes he saw first. They were loafers. Honestly, who wore loafers anymore? But as Stiles worked his way up the man's (truly, very impressive) physique, it struck him as familiar. Only when he reached the v-neck did he fill in the blanks. And a horrible feeling set into the pit of his stomach as he realized he was looking at Peter Hale. Peter Hale from Beacon Hills, zombiewolf, serial killer, and sociopath extraordinaire!

It took Stiles about two seconds for his brain to jump start into _fleeing the scene immediately_. Immediately Stilinski! In totally not a cowardly fashion, Stiles took an immediate about-face and high tailed it in the general direction of his table.

"Yo, something came up, gotta go," he rushed to Thomas and Jaylen who looked momentarily confused, and then straight out perplexed. But that might have something to do with the fact that their eyes were aimed somewhere over his right shoulder, and dear God, not now.

"Stiles?" Asked a gentle drawl behind him, sounding less surprised and more...anticipatory. Whatever that meant.

Stiles closed his eyes as tight as they would go, hoping to hear his alarm clock somewhere in the distance of this horrible, terrible, no good, very bad dream.

He felt someone flick his ear, which, really? "You know, it's customary to answer an adult when they speak to you," said the drawl behind him.

"It's also customary for people to shut up when someone is so obviously ignoring them," Stiles snapped, finally turning around to the werewolf behind him. He was being rude, so what? He was caught off guard. But Peter was standing _close_ and Stiles felt his breath catch in his throat, all that caution he used to have for the man in front of him rushing back to him. "What do you want, Peter? Did you follow me all the way here to school?" Then he got a better hold of himself, adding sarcastically, "to what do I owe the _pleasure_."

Thomas tensed in his peripheral vision, clearly ready to jump to Stiles' aid if necessary. At least until Peter lifted a hand toward him, silently telling him to keep his nose out of their business. Peter didn't even glance at the others or acknowledge their presence in any other way.

"Why Stiles, I have so missed that warm and welcoming attitude," Peter answered, a smirk slithering onto his lips. Seriously the guy was so sketchy.

"I'm sure just as much as I've missed you're magnificent ability to—No, you know what, I am not starting this with you. Why are you here?" He asked, picking up his notes and books and holding them protectively to his chest.

The werewolf simply waved the book he was holding in his face and flashed a smile at Jaylen, who gave a nervous smile back. "Picking up another copy of one of my favorites. The other one managed to fall apart at the binding and-"

"You know that's not what I mean, Peter," Stiles answered, trying is best to glare, which in the end Peter just seemed to find amusing.

"Oddly enough, I don't find myself altogether that surprised. I thought I _sensed_ you around lately," Peter told him, pointedly staying away from the real fact of _why he was at Stiles' college_ , and irritatingly pointing out that yes. He knew Stiles was there. He could smell him in the book store. The dick.

"You still haven’t answered--"

"I’m actually rather fond of this place. I've been a frequent customer since...When would you say, Jaylen? March?" Peter asked, flashing her another theatrical smile.

The girl made several facial expressions Stiles had never seen her make before, and then she nodded, slowly. He would really need to talk to her about safety and how bad people existed in the world. But then she mentioned Peter was "actually really enjoyable to discuss literature with."

Stiles threw his hands up in the air, struggling to hold all his things at the same time, an exasperated noise escaping his throat. Then he left.

Totally not like a dog with his tail between his legs. He would so _not_ be caught off guard like this again. Even if Peter did seem calm, and oddly happy. Stiles knew better than to trust that kind of practiced façade. Peter Hale was the villain of his Beacon Hills children’s book. The Big, Bad Wolf. No one liked The Big, Bad Wolf.

Later that night, in the midst of explaining to both Jaylen and Thomas that he was not in trouble with the mob or something while he also apologized for the scene, he got a message from a number he didn't know, but he didn't really have to guess that hard who it was.

All it said was, "have you finished the book I gave you yet?"

Stiles chucked his phone across the dorm room, startling his roommate.


	2. The Birth And The Death Of The Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After their first meeting in the bookstore, Peter prepares himself for the next, as well as mulls over his few years, and more importantly Stiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEy! So, this chapter took a little bit longer than I meant it to. I will try to update every week or so, but sometimes it might take longer, sometimes shorter. Thanks for all the comments so far though! And to all the people reading. Hope you enjoy this chapter! (I maybe like writing Peter more than Stiles because I get to be such a classy dick.)
> 
> OH and the beautiful CloveeD beta'd this for me too because she's perfect.

First and foremost, Stiles does not fit into his plans. Stiles never fits into his plans. The teen is a new factor in an equation Peter had already solved months ago, and he doesn't fit. With Stiles now in town, the equation is officially unsolvable. Imagine that.

Stiles didn't fit into Peter's plans when he was alpha, getting in the way and helping Scott learn control.

Stiles didn't fit into his plans when he was healed enough to get out of the hospital, interfering and then eventually _setting him on fire_.

Stiles didn't fit into his plans when the teen so _stubbornly_ refused the bite because, although they would have been a frightful pair, Stiles had _morals_ and _loyalties_.

Peter stopped trying to factor Stiles into his plans after he came back, only tried to figure out an equation where he was cancelled out completely.

Distracting him with banter always seemed to work.

Over time spent observing the teen, Peter realized that the reason Stiles didn't fit into any of his plans was because he acted as a foil to Peter himself. It was an interesting development. 

They were incredibly similar, with one key difference. Scott. Stiles' loyalty and love of Scott.

If the teen did not have this unconditional, nearing-on-pathetic, love for his best friend then Peter didn't imagine Stiles would have been a problem for him. But because Stiles never wanted to disappoint the other teen, he didn't play by normal rules.

He was smart, too smart for his own good, energetic, as quick on his feet as he was with his mind, and overall probably the only one in the pack that of was any use. In fact, Peter practically lamented the day he realized Stiles' loyalty surpassed his desires. If not, Peter was certain he would have been able to manipulate the teen into plenty. Stiles had wanted to be stronger, after all, but not enough to betray Scott.

Oh well, easy come, easy go. Peter didn't exactly feel like putting in the energy or effort to get the teen on his side because it would prove futile, so he didn't bother trying again.

He didn’t need to form any attachments.

In the end, giving up Beacon Hills wasn't difficult.

Sure, it had been his home, the place he had grown up, except Peter didn't have some kind of unbreakable attachment to it either. And it wasn't like he was following Derek out of town, but if his family was no longer there then why was he? He didn't feel any everlasting bond to the place, and most of his family's land was gone anyway. Which he, of course, blamed Derek for. How could his nephew leave after the fire and just give it all up? Idiot.

So, what was the point?

Peter hadn't even asked Derek where he was going, he didn't really care. Really.

Cora went with her brother; supposedly they were bonding. Peter would miss her, in a way; after all she had far more potential than Derek had, at pretty much anything. Anything at all. But it wasn't really like he knew what she had turned out to be. A fierce and aggressive wolf, yes, less easily manipulated than Derek, yes, but would she amount to anything?

Peter still remembered how she used to run around as a child, jumping on everything around her, climbing trees to dangerous heights.

But that was before.

Basically, it wasn't some heart-wrenching goodbye when he left. He simply informed Derek that he was leaving, his nephew gave him a silent nod and an eyebrow lift, per the course, and then they parted.

***

At first, Peter had simply wanted to enjoy his time. He debated traveling, debated going to Europe and just setting up a life in Italy. In fact, he still wanted to follow through with those plans, but something had intervened.

An old acquaintance intervened, actually. Peter wouldn't call her a friend, but he didn't dislike her enough to dismiss her either. She was, after all, the first person from his former life to contact him since the fire. If his old acquaintances didn't think he was dead, they certainly didn't come around trying to pay pity and kindness to a poor, deformed, burned, broken werewolf. Peter wouldn't have accepted it anyway. Even though it wasn't like he would have had a choice in the coma.

Still, Mizuki was an old friend of his sister's, and he had always enjoyed her wisdom. She reminded him of Talia, actually. Which was perhaps why he put off his plans of heading elsewhere to go see her. _Peter and his bleeding heart_.

Maybe it wasn't so much the fact that she was interested in how he was doing that made Peter go and see her, but the fact that she mentioned a supernatural curiosity happening around the university she worked at. Well, and mostly the fact that, out of everyone he knew, Mizuki was also the most likely person to have access to books assumed to be lost or forgotten, or supposedly destroyed.

Not that accessibility to literature was more important than murder in his opinion or anything. But, no, Peter was not about to go investigate something for someone without getting something in return. And considering he left his most valuable magic book in Beacon Hills, he needed to restock his supply.

So he headed for Stanford. Mizuki greeted him the way Talia would have, a warm, extended hand and a soft smile. Polite and to the point, and not overly emotional. It was perfect.

She didn't look much older than the last time he saw her, which was surprising as it had almost been a decade. She was still married to the same man he had known, John or something. Ironically enough, John was a very dedicated police officer, strict and stern, and practically too big to fit in a room. He looked laughable next to Mizuki, who was so petite already, and looked dwarfed in comparison. 

Peter had also never met her daughter Jaylen before, though he met her now. She attended Stanford and worked at the bookstore her grandfather started, although her mother now owned. She was smart, sharp, and endlessly curious.

Oddly enough, Peter liked her, not that he would admit it.

He was only in Stanford a few days before he realized just what supernatural anomaly was apparently plaguing the university. There was one particular sorority in which the newest members were disappearing. Two had been found dead. According to John, police assumed it was a serial killer on the rise. They believed it to be a senior girl who was graduating and would be leaving the university.

Peter visited the house once and knew that wasn't true. It was no serial killer.

They were being haunted by a revenant.

It was a difficulty. He needed to find the revenant and get a feel for it, which was incredibly dangerous, especially on his own. But once he found it, he made a quick diagnosis, did a fair amount of research, and then did his work locating the proper silver knife.

Apparently there had been a freshmen girl who was pledging when she was murdered. In a vengeful fury, her spirit attempted to rid the sorority of all others pledging, something she would never be able to do. The revenant had begun crying at first, trying to defend her actions, said that her new family needed to be punished for allowing the other girls in after such a tragedy. How could they just continue life without her like that?

Peter never really cared for sob stories. He didn't bother to hear her to the end. And, powerful as she had become, she didn't quite maintain her malevolence after she had been discovered. She told him who it was that murdered her though. Not that it mattered, that was something for the police to figure out, not him.

Mizuki was more than appreciative though. She offered him whatever books he wanted, as much as he could have them.

It was the only reason Peter had killed the revenant in the first place.

***

All in all, Stanford wasn't a bad place. Peter set up about a half hour outside the city, closer to the state parks, but close enough he could visit the bookstore. And really, it was...nice. It wasn't Italy, of course, but it was pleasant. There was a demand he didn't need to reach by being out of Beacon Hills, being away from Derek and Cora. There was no need for him to play devil's advocate to a consistently-naïve-and-unavailingly-brave ragtag team of teenagers, led by his far-too-easily-manipulated nephew and a far-too-moral baby werewolf.

They didn't understand the way the world worked because they couldn't understand. It was irritating. Peter didn't care if they were ‘children,’ they were also in a world that was ready to swallow them whole.

The only one who really displayed any kind of potential was Stiles. And Stiles, well, he had his loyalty issues to work on. But that didn't stop Peter from giving the teen the book of magic.

Stiles had displayed an ability to use magic several times without knowing it. Peter had observed, processed, and understood. Magic was difficult, and Stiles wasn't prepared mentally or physically for the challenge. For a time, the werewolf assumed that the teen was simply developing skills as an emissary, a person to provide Scott's pack with a kind of protection, with Scott being the ‘True Alpha’ and all. What a joke.

But that wasn't true. And Peter miscalculated. Again.

Stiles was not made to be Scott's emissary. He was much too powerful for that. Peter could practically smell the power coiled beneath his skin. And everyone thought that Stiles was so weak. It was amusing, because none of them knew, none of them could tell, except maybe Deaton. But Deaton wouldn't let Stiles work at magic, he was too kind, he was too nervous of power. Deaton was assigned to be a protector, a defender. Not a warrior.

It was the only reason Peter slipped the book into Stiles' room. He wanted Stiles to find it, knew the boy was too curious for his own good. He would most certainly take the book, whether he knew who it was from or not, and he would know it was magic.

That would be all it would take, and that was what Peter was banking on.

Not that the werewolf cared to see what his little trick amounted to. But it was enough that he imagined it would cause a disruption in the pack, draw a line between Scott's hyper-morality and Stiles' inability of self-control, and self-preservation. It was just a little...parting gift, he supposed. One last manipulation, one last deception, one last goodbye to the pack.

***

Apparently he had even miscalculated Stiles' loyalty to Scott.

Peter had not expected to see the boy at the bookstore. He still had a full year and a half of school left when Peter had seen him last. Apparently the Alpha Pack did more damage on the Beacon Hills pack than he had bothered to realize.

Sure, he had expected them to be bitter about losing two pack members. Peter also imagined that they wouldn't be all too happy about the three Hales leaving, but that shouldn't have been enough to tear the pack apart.

It was curious. And if the werewolf cared more, he would feel like investigating.

But he didn't, which was why he was maybe a little caught off guard when he first noticed Stiles' scent in the bookstore, not that he would admit it to anyone. He had scented it a few months before actually seeing him. He hadn't even bothered with a possible coincidence either, because Peter's nose was never wrong. He knew that when he smelled Stiles, the boy was there. 

He knew Stiles’ scent.

He became increasingly more interested. What had happened between the teen and his new, True Alpha that had caused such a rift? One that would bring Stiles here without Scott? Because Peter checked and oh, Scott's scent was nowhere on the boy. Obviously they hadn't talked in months.

The scent also brought light to the new boy that Jaylen was spending time with at the store. She had mentioned a friend coming to the store a few times, and Peter had never cared to try and find out whom. It didn't matter to him. Until he realized that friend was Stiles.

It needed to seem like an accident, their first meeting, or else Stiles would have been far more defensive. Caught off guard, he would be far more vulnerable. It wasn't necessarily planned, however. Peter knew that it was inevitable, but he also knew that he couldn't approach Stiles.

So he didn't change his behavior. He visited the store when he needed new books, and everything fell into place. Stiles had come into the aisle completely unaware that he would be seeing Peter after so long, then proceeded to turn and flee. But it was the accidental meeting he had been looking for: one where Stiles found him.

He would say it was a fate, but it wasn't. There was a purpose to them both being in the same place, as always, and Peter would take advantage of it to the fullest extent. Stiles without Scott?

The possibilities were endless.

And just to test just how easily he could read Stiles, he also knew Stiles brought the book of magic with him. The lack of response to his text message only proved his theory. This would be far too easy.

***

He waited a couple weeks before going back to the bookstore after their first meeting. Jaylen had been confused in only how he knew Stiles, but when he cleared that they knew each other from Beacon Hills, she stopped asking questions. He enjoyed that the girl understood when to ask and when to stop, not that she talked all that often anyway.

Her boyfriend was also...peculiar. Though Peter could definitely see where he and Stiles got along. He had observed Jaylen and Thomas occasionally in his comings and goings. Their interactions were abnormal, but they seemed to work. He didn’t make a habit of watching them though, or caring.

Instead, he made his way to the literature section, the only section in the store he went to that was available to the public, and perused the shelves until he pulled out a copy of _Atlas Shrugged_. He skimmed the first few paragraphs, and didn't even look up when he began to smell Stiles' scent in the aisle.

It took the teen a moment to actually approach him; Peter assumed that he spent a moment assessing the situation, trying to figure out possible escape strategies and other routes. It was sweet of Stiles to think of him as that much of a threat still, or that Peter cared to be a threat. Not that Stiles had ever been scared of Peter, really, which the werewolf liked about him. Stiles was just taking necessary precautions, as always.

"So according to Jaylen, her mom got in contact with you, and you helped with something here in town?" Was the first thing he asked. Peter took the time to finally look up at him, but he wasn't looking back. Instead the teen was running his fingers along a few spines of the books.

"Shockingly, I don't spend my time obsessing over the old pack," Peter answered, closing the book and leaning against one of the shelves.

"Even more shocking, people call you for help," Stiles answered, sliding a book out but not opening it. He pretended to examine the cover, though Peter knew better. Stiles had all of his senses on overdrive, horrifically aware of everything that Peter was doing. If he so much as held his hand out right now, Stiles would most likely be ready with several kinds of wolf's bane. If he even brought anything like that with him to school.

"Hasn't anyone ever informed you, Stiles? I'm not, in fact, the bad guy," Peter told him, already bored with the path of the conversation. How many times did he have to repeat himself?

"So you've said before," Stiles answered, finally turning to face him.

He was a little taller, but still held himself slouched. He definitely looked older, and his hair was longer. His hair was everywhere. Honestly, wasn't that why gel was made? But, in the end, he just looked like Stiles.

The boy reached up, lightly chewed at his thumb nail in a normal nervous fidget. Yep, stiles.

"And you still don't believe me?" Peter asked, raising his eyebrows in false offense.

"I believe you about as much as I did when I was sixteen," Stiles said, shifting from foot to foot.

"Why, Stiles, there are only so many times I can explain myself without sounding like a broken record."

Stiles looked away, probably thinking that he would much rather listen to that than Peter, his expressions hadn't become quite so schooled yet. He fidgeted a few more times, biting the inside of his cheek, looking almost anywhere but Peter, shifting from foot to foot. But his movements had been tremendously scaled down in comparison to what they were. Stiles was calmer. It was odd.

"So how long are you staying?" Stiles asked, a subtle tone in his voice changing. It may have even faintly sounded like interest.

"I have an apartment out a few miles," Peter told him, putting his own book back on the shelf before resuming his resting spot against it.

Stiles hummed softly for a moment, watching the movement. "And why exactly are you here?"

"To get a book," Peter sighed, rolling his eyes for punctuation, though Stiles seemed less than pleased at the remark.

"You don't do anything without thinking of yourself," Stiles said, "and I really like Jaylen."

It was the very start of a threat, just the slightest air of one, and Peter tried to resist smirking at the implication. Stiles liked Jaylen, Stiles didn't like Peter, if Peter hurt Jaylen, Stiles would hurt Peter.

"And what exactly are you insinuating?" Peter asked softly, unable to remove the curl at the tips of his lips.

Again, Stiles didn't speak right away. In fact, he moved closer, which Peter didn't really expect. But it seemed to break the tension between them, if only a little bit. Something broke, in the very least, even if Peter couldn't put his finger on it.

"What are they giving you?"

"Books, Stiles," Peter told him honestly. "Perhaps you can ask Jaylen about it? We discuss them frequently."

"Seriously, that's it? You do them a favor and in return, you want books?"

"Knowledge is power and all that."

The teen stopped to drag his hand down his mouth before cupping it around his chin in thought. He was definitely a lot more practiced than during their last conversation, far more prepared. How long had he spent picturing how this conversation would go? How many hours did he endure imagining what Peter would say?

How had the conversation ended in his head?

Really, he should be flattered the teen thought of him so much.

When Stiles didn't answer again, however, but remained standing there, Peter took in a heavy breath and took a step toward him. Instinctively, the teen started to back up, but then seemed to decide against it. He held his ground instead. Good boy.

"Well, if you're not going to buy anything, and you're done asking me questions to settle that hyperactive little mind of yours, may I leave?" He asked, trying to sound as bored as possible. Maybe it would shake him a little.

It worked.

"Wait, you're not going to ask me anything?" Stiles asked, obviously wondering when Peter would start to inquire about what exactly had happened in Beacon Hills.

He did wonder. The werewolf truly did want to know what happened to the pack, and why Stiles had left them. Mostly because he didn't assume that Stiles would ever leave Scott. What had happened between the two of them that snapped their supposedly unbreakable bond? Where had they been so fragile, and why couldn't Peter have figured it out sooner?

At the same time, he couldn't let Stiles know that. The boy was too quick.

"Ask you about what?" Peter asked, feigning stupidity.

He earned a glare in return, which was a bit like being glared at by a fawn. Still...

"Peter."

"Stiles."

"Oh my God!" Stiles exclaimed, throwing his hands up into the air again. Peter tried not to grin. "I randomly appear at a bookstore hours away from home and am apparently going to college and you don't bat an eyelash?"

"I always knew you were exceptionally smart, Stiles. I'm really not that surprised. It's unnecessary to put yourself down all the time."

Maybe he wasn't prepared for the compliment, but the teen paused halfway through opening his mouth to retort and just stared for a moment. Then he sighed, shaking his head. "So you're staying?" He asked, resigned.

"Until I find better prospects, yes,” the werewolf promised, beginning to skim the shelves again. “But with a redwood forest nearby, the university, and plenty of reading material, it might take me a while. I'm rather fond of it here, actually."

"Rather fond..." Stiles echoed, face falling flat.

"Precisely," Peter answered.

An awkward silence hovered over them for a moment, not necessarily born of itself but more forced between them. Stiles didn't want to have a flowing conversation with someone like Peter, so he wasn't speaking. Instead he was shifting, fidgeting. He wanted to ask more, he wanted to 'research' Peter more, but he also knew the dangers, and most likely didn't want to spare more time on him. But Stiles was curious, and it wouldn't take long for him to want to meet up again.

"Really, Stiles, was there anything more?" Peter asked again, eyeing him carefully.

"Why did you give me that book? I can't even read it. I'm just a human. There's no point, and you always have a reason, so what is it?"

"It's magic, Stiles," Peter told him, rolling his eyes because God, he just wished he could find people to keep up with him without him having to elaborate, albeit only occasionally in Stiles’ case.

"And that is literally the only explanation I am getting? Isn't it?"

"I was hoping for you to tell me the reason."

"You--" Stiles started, before pulling back completely, putting feet between them. 

Peter imagined the conversation was nearing an end, so he turned, more than ready to head to the back where the more important books were. But he was stopped by a hand on his arm.  
It was bold, far too brash, and completely unacceptable.

People did not touch him, not without his permission. But here Stiles was, grabbing his arm and trying to get him to turn around like he's _important_ enough to do that. Peter should rip his hand off, growl, flash his eyes, push Stiles to the ground and assert dominance. He should let Stiles know that touching him so freely was not an option.

Except the odd thing was...Peter didn't mind it.

Stiles wasn't...below him, not really.

Stiles was the only one Peter thought had potential, and even now, disconnected from the pack as they both were, and even though he had to explain himself occasionally, Stiles was still the only one Peter could ever think of as close to his equal.

So he found himself turning, scenting the irritation coming off of Stiles in waves. The teen looked positively captivating with so much frustration and hatred in his eyes, even as he realized his mistake. He let Peter go like fire.

Ironic.

When the teen didn't speak, Peter sighed, conceding. "Relax, Stiles. I'm not here for you. If I intended to use you in the event you learned magic then why would I give you the book and leave?"

It was true, actually. If Peter did want a magic user on his side, he would have stayed. He would have tried to make Stiles learn magic in any way he could.

As it was, Peter did not, so he did not. He had really just wanted to...dare he say, do something nice? He had been giving Stiles a higher probability of survival for the one that deserved it. Survival of the fittest and all that, in addition Peter would prefer word of the pack that took over his family's land to include at least one powerful member. Whether or not Scott would eventually achieve that with the whole ‘True Alpha’ bit. How irritating.

Stiles seemed, however, completely dissatisfied. He shoved his hands into his pockets and stared at Peter, trying to figure him out. It was...well, enjoyable. Peter enjoyed puzzling Stiles just as much as Stiles puzzled him. They were each other’s personal Rubik’s Cubes.

Except Peter needed to figure the teen out before it happened the other way around.

"God, fine. Okay. So you're not going to like, follow me around, and lurk in the shadows, and like...try to steal my lunch money, are you?"

"Do you want me to?" Peter asked, annoyed with the thousand questions, but mostly just wanting to mess with Stiles a bit. He stepped closer suddenly, caging Stiles in against a bookcase and enjoying the look on the teen's face as it dropped to temporary panic, defense mode kicking in.

"Whoa-Peter-No, stop, so not okay!" Stiles exclaimed suddenly, hands striking out in reaction, one landing somewhere on Peter's chest, the other on his shoulder. Stiles honestly tried to push back as hard as he could, and really it was kind of endearing. "Off. Off! Bad. No."

"You're the one who's touching me..." Peter clarified, glancing down between them.

"So does not excuse the creeping!" Stiles answered, a flush rising to his cheeks immediately. "Besides, it was only in reaction to you _pressing me against a bookcase_. What do you think you’re doing?"

Peter smirked to himself before backing away. "Just proving my point," he answered.

And when Stiles glared and asked, "what _point_ , exactly?" The werewolf just shrugged and headed toward the opposite end of the aisle.

The teen looked positively disheartened. Peter decided to throw him a bone. He turned one last time, hands finding the pockets of his jacket. "If you can't read the first spell, it says to read and memorize it at the birth of the day, and to try to perform it at the death."

"Why can you seriously not sound like a normal person?" Stiles asked, rolling his eyes and crossing his arms over his chest. "The birth and the death of the day? Really? Do you even realize how ridiculous that sounds?"

When Peter simply answered him with unimpressed eyebrows, the teen huffed in frustration before rolling his eyes and adding, “yeah, yeah, it’s magic, right.”

Peter felt himself grin, “and now you’re finally thinking.”


	3. It's Natural To Be Afraid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles goes on winter break and ends up seeing Lydia. His welcome back to school after winter break, on the other hand, is not quite the welcome he had wanted. Actually, it was more like he stayed in Beacon Hills. There's a body involved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Okay, so here is chapter three. I apologize for the extreme lack of Steter in this chapter, and will totally make it up to you (in the rest of the series. I promise.) But I really like this chapter actually, and it's even better that it's titled for one of my favorite Explosions in the Sky songs...We're still kind of in the 'set up' stage I guess. Anyway, I hope you enjoy!
> 
> The fact this story is receiving any attention at all keeps making me curl up in a blushing, giggling burrito ball that keeps whining to CloveeD. She is my rock and I still owe her my Valentine's day present...Oops.
> 
> I love all of you too, by the way. Thank you <333
> 
> I am also endlessly sorry that I meant to keep these chapters short, and they just keep growing...

Peter Hale was possibly one of the most infuriating people ever. Stiles made a pledge to himself that he would not let thoughts of Peter ruin his winter break.

Stiles purposefully did not think about him on the drive home. He did not think about him while eating dinner alone his first night back. He did not think about Peter while trying to absorb the comfort of his own room or the heat of his bed through his skin like he was a natural conductor. Not on Christmas when it would be perfect to wonder if the werewolf was alone, or on New Year’s Eve. Not while talking to his father over breakfast; no, he did think about Peter through any of it (obviously).

Well, maybe he did think about him a little, but only when he decided to actually meet up with Lydia and she _knew_ he was keeping something secret (because she was weirdly perceptive like that. Ugh).

As far as the pack went, Stiles didn't really make an effort to see them. Maybe he was petulantly trying to make one of them contact him, stubbornly waiting to see if he was still important to any of them. He knew he _was_ , but...he didn't really have a point.

It was almost toward the end of break (which Stiles did not sulk through), that Lydia texted him and told him that if he did not shower, brush his teeth, put on something she could show him off in, and come to get bagels with her, she would come over and feed him said bagel herself. Whole. By shoving it down his throat.

Okay, so Lydia was still more terrifying than Jaylen.

He followed each of her instructions, a little please that he still had her on his side even after he left. He knew that it was an immature move, and she definitely told him so, but he couldn't help it. What else was he supposed to do when he felt like all of his friends were slipping through his fingers? Stiles didn't like to confront problems, not until forced, and confronting friendships just didn't seem as urgent as running for his life or trying to save his father. Sometimes he wanted the problem to come to him. Couldn’t they spare that? Just this once?  
Apparently not. Because his friends were always just as stubborn as he was. Lydia was just more evolved than the rest of them.

"You know you need to make up with him," she told him while innocently picking at her bagel, taking a small bite. "You need to make up with him, and then you need to tell me what exactly you are hiding. You can choose what to do first."

"Make up with who?" Stiles asked, playing stupid. Who knew exactly who Lydia wanted him to make up with.

"Stiles, my bagel threat still stands," she answered. The fact that she was so nonchalantly examining her French Tip manicure was chilling.

"But I just...I don't know _how_ ," he practically whined, dropping his bagel for dramatic flair.

"He's been your best friend since you can remember, practically attached at the hip, and you don't know how to make up with him?" She inquired, not buying his reaction for a moment and choosing to continue examining her nails.

"How do you know he even _wants_ me to make up with him?"'

She smacked him on the shoulder, and then she smacked him for each strained word through her teeth, "You. Are. A. Complete. Idiot!" She crossed her arms after, shoving herself against the back of her chair, her glare fully evolved into the beautiful, frightening goddess he knew she was. Stiles couldn't help but be irritated and awe-struck at the same time. "He has been moping around like a puppy without its owner for /months/. He doesn’t know what you want from him and just wants to give you space to figure it out, because Scott is a _nice_ person, and easily confused. _He doesn’t understand_."

That hurt. It really did. Stiles felt his shoulders deflate, his entire posture crumble in on itself. Well, he had done what he wanted. He had made Scott aware that he was gone. And now he'd hurt his best friend and himself in the process. Idiot was definitely correct.

And still, he couldn't will himself to pick up his phone and text.

"I just..." He said before taking in a heavy breath.

Lydia finally seemed to get it, she took a sip of her coffee, her thumb reaching up to swipe lipstick away from the lid right after. "Fine, you can tell me what you are so terribly trying to hide from me." Her lips curled into a smirk. "You can at least give me that."

"Fine!" Stiles groaned, both hands coming up to drag down his face. Really, Lydia? Really? "I saw...at school, you know the bookstore I was telling you about? Well, I kind of saw someone. Someone from Beacon Hills..."

"Stiles, if I have to drag it out of you, you know I will," She told him. Her fingers tapped one by one down her upper arm, it was a very convincing action. What? Her nails looked sharp.  
"Peter! I saw Peter! He is living right outside Stanford, and I saw him and I just...He didn't do anything to me. We've only run into each other twice, and it wasn't like he tried anything or whatever, I'm clearly all in one piece but...isn't it weird that he's there?"

For a long moment, Lydia was silent. She didn't really look at him, which was alarming. Instead, she took a bite of bagel, took a sip of coffee, and then took a deep breath. It made Stiles' heart rate spike just a little, his leg bounce in anticipation. It felt like an eternity.

"Lyds!"

"I'm processing."

"It doesn't normally take you this long!"

"You gave me a lot of information to work with."

Stiles leaned against the back of his chair, arms crossing over his chest in a mirror of Lydia. He gave her time, but watched her carefully.

Every part of her was beautiful. He was aware that he would probably always be a little bit in love with her. After all, who wouldn't? Lydia was, in every way, wonderful. And though she wasn't the perfect woman he had always imagined her to be, she was so much more. If she ever decided he was the one, he would probably drop everything and race to her side, but they worked so much better like this. And Stiles was more than alright with that.

Finally, she spoke, her cup at her mouth like she was telling a secret she didn’t want others to hear, "do you think that maybe Peter is just looking for a fresh start, like you?"

The question stunned him for a moment, and all Stiles found himself doing in answer was shrugging back, staring at her.

"I mean," she continued with her own small shrug, "if he didn't want anything from you, or try to hurt you. If he actually settled down, maybe Peter was honestly just looking for a place to get away from everyone. Sure, it's a weird coincidence, but I don't think even Peter can plan that far ahead."

"He gave me a book of magic," Stiles blurted, eyes casting down at the table so he didn't have to look at her. Maybe she would judge him? Owning a book given to him by an undead werewolf was probably not the smartest move in the game.

He should know her better than that.

"And have you tried to use it?" She asked, looking away as well, as if she would scare him from answering by staring at him.

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because it's from Peter!"

"Yeah, and as much of a sociopath as he is, he knows his stuff. He gave you the book, but he didn't ask you to do a spell for him, did he?"

"No."

"Then what's the harm in trying?"

"I don't know," he supplied dryly, "certain death?"

She hit him again, but it didn't have much heat behind it.

"Look, magic is dangerous, and it's natural to be afraid, Stiles. In fact, it’s one of the innate human emotions based on a stimuli that creates a perception of danger that then leads to a basic fight or flight response, in which you are now exhibiting flight. Because you connect Peter to how afraid you were sophomore year, and magic is tied to Peter, and the book is tied to Peter. You’re using your born survival instincts, for once, and I am proud, whether or not Peter is a potential threat anymore. But it might not be such a bad idea to try, in my opinion," she told him in a rush. 

Leave it to Lydia to always use the power of misdirection by scientific jargon and then topic switching. She finished off her bagel and slowly stood up from the table. "But in the end it's up to you. Now what do you say we go ice skating?"

"You really think that is a good idea? Last time I remember you ice skating you kind of freaked out and started screaming on the middle of the ice, because the man we were just talking about, who you said might not be a potential threat, _Jedi minded you_ into bringing him back to life."

"And clearly I learned to move past that, didn't I?" She smiled, flipping her hair over her shoulder. "And besides, Peter wouldn't really be a Jedi, would he?"

"Now you're using my favorite pop culture references against me? Lydia, why the betrayal?"

She rolled her eyes, but didn't bother to hide her smile. And Stiles was powerless against following her out. Talk about Jedi mind tricks.

***

It was two in the morning on his first night back at school when a phone rang. Loudly. Obnoxiously. Unendingly.

At first, Stiles didn't exactly register that it was _his_ phone. It did one of those weird crossing realities things where the ringtone somehow seemed to make sense in his dream. It was one of the reasons Stiles would be late to class normally.

What didn't make sense in his dream, however, was his roommate chucking a shoe at his head, and grumbling something that sounded very similarly to "shut the damn thing off before I fucking chuck it against the nearest hard surface."

Stiles didn't really like his roommate (Greg, oh man, what a name) very much.

"Got it, I got it," he grumbled in return, hand slamming down on the phone. First night back and classes started the next day. Mainly his first 8 AM class. This was not a very pleasant experience.

Squinting open an eye to look at the bright name sprawled across his screen, Stiles only became all the more confused when a big "THOMAS" flashed across it. Why the hell was Thomas calling him this late? This was like a crime. He could kill him. Thomas surely would if the roles were reversed.

"Wha-?" Stiles groaned into the phone, halfway through a yawn.

"Stiles!" The voice came loud and clear (and very, very fucking awake, seriously, screw him) over the phone.

"How does the idea of ancient bamboo torture sound to you? Because that seems like a good enough punishment at the moment," Stiles grumbled a moment. His roommate sat up in bed to throw a pen at him this time, and Stiles glared, but quickly got out of bed to head out into the hallway. Scott would have understood.

"That's the first thing you go with? Huh...Personally I like the whole wrapped in wet leather and left out in the su-"

"No way bro, bamboo would be so much w--No, no, I have class tomorrow, you are not dragging me into this discussion again. What is it?"

"So, I'm just throwing it out there...a frat house was trying to be sneaky about hazing their new members, and the kids totally found a body in the woods! Best hazing ever."

Flashbacks to sophomore year suddenly hit Stiles so sharply in the chest he lost his breath a moment. But it gave Thomas enough time to continue.

"You know what the best part is? Dude, the body they found is missing its head! Come find it with us!"

"How do you even know about it?"

"Jaylen's dad got a call, she called me, and I maybe have a police scanner."

"Did I ever tell you how much I love the both of you?"

"I knew you would change your tone!" Stiles could hear his grin over the phone. "8 AM class can suck my dick."

"Give me like, five minutes to get dressed and I'll meet you at your place?"

"I'm already standing outside your dorm.”

With that, Thomas hung up, and Stiles rushed back into his room to dress for the cold weather outside.

***

At one point in time, Stiles had believed that he had seen it all. He believed that nothing would really ever make him that queasy, that squeamish, or that disturbed ever again. (You know, blood didn't make him _that_ queasy to begin with and everything, right? It totally _didn't_. Maybe just a little. It was needles, they were way worse.)

He was, turned out, incredibly wrong. He was definitely squeamish around blood.

And there was a lot of blood.

Then again, maybe it wasn’t the blood.

Body severed in half, he could totally handle it. Cutting off Derek's arm? He probably (totally) would have passed out, but he could have handled it (with years of nightmares). Watching his friends break bones, be cut, stabbed, impaled, whatever? He could handle it.

Seeing a head completely eaten away from its body that was, for the most part, intact? That was a little...well, um, uh, yeah.

Years of nightmares was probably an understatement. But at least he didn’t pass out. (Would anyone really judge him if he needed to hold Thomas’ hand a moment?)

Why did they have to find it before the police?

There were splatters of blood all over the trees, and trails of blood leading from the body. There were even little piece of flesh here and there. It was chewed down to the shoulders, skull, top of the spine and all.

It wasn't a smooth cut like decapitation would have been. It almost looked like the head had been torn off, if not for the trails of blood.

Stiles came back from vomiting a few hundred meters away and tried to put his detective brain to work. What was everything that his dad had trained him to look at? Even more importantly, was this the work of a human or was something supernatural at work? Because from his end, it looked pretty supernatural.

Just as he was taking out his phone to snap a couple of pictures (for reference, not to put up on Instagram or anything), Jaylen walked right over, crouched down, and began to look in depth at the head wound. How she was so calm and collected, he had no idea.

Thomas was half hiding behind a tree, his excitement at seeing a dead body completely gone (he had thrown up too, which Stiles was grateful for because that meant he wasn't alone).

But, Jaylen, she barely seemed bothered at all.

"Female. Probably a student. Definitely eaten," she told them, bending to get closer to the wound, oh God, why was he always friends with weird people? (He loved it, really.)

"Jay, what are you doing?" Thomas hissed just as Stiles strained to whisper "oh my God, Jay, what the hell? Stop!"

"I'm investigating a crime scene," she answered, slipping a rubber glove out of her pocket and putting it on. She actually touched it. She touched the bloody, gross, eaten away flesh (and it squished when she did). She also chose to ignore the disturbed gagging and noises of protest from both boys. Stiles could only imagine she was thinking 'babies.'

"Seriously, I have never been more disgusted and equally turned on by a person ever," Stiles said, trying to keep himself from vomiting again, hands placed firmly on his hips.

"Hey!" Thomas exclaimed from behind the tree, glaring at him. But when Stiles just gave him a pointed look, the older boy shrugged and nodded. "Yeah, it actually is pretty hot."

"I am sure it's just as attractive as the both of you retching at the sight is," she quipped, a smirk curling at her lips.

Yeah...Stiles was apparently just destined to befriend people who had major psychological problems.

"It's not very abnormal for a body to be eaten though, right? Like, bugs and animals normally get to it like this. So what's the big deal?" Thomas asked, sparing another look at his girlfriend and the body. He looked a little green.

Jaylen leaned and held the body still while she swabbed a bit of blood from it with a Q-Tip, then she slipped it into a small vial. Stiles had never been so pleased and impressed.

"You’re not even a forensics major. What, are you gonna run tests?" He asked, grinning.

When she shrugged and stood up, taking her glove off so that she didn't touch the blood on the tips of her fingers, Stiles didn't doubt that was exactly what she would do.

"My father's probably close, shouldn't linger. Anyone care for a late night stop at the bookstore?" Jaylen asked, placing the glove inside a plastic bag. She was prepared. Just how many bodies had she investigated?

"Why? What's the problem?" Thomas asked, a nervous lilt to his voice.

"This was done by insects. But the body can't be more than a day old, and there should be more crawling all over her, eating the rest, but there isn’t so much as a maggot.” More groans of protest. “There is literally no way that this could have been done unless..." Her head snapped up quickly, cutting her off.

A moment later Stiles understood as he heard dog barks and loud male voices getting closer. They needed to high tail it out of there before the police found them. Right next to the headless body.

"I find you so unbelievably sexy, did you know that?" Thomas asked as Jaylen moved up next to him.

"Do you find me sexy enough to hold the bloody glove?" She asked, smiling sweetly up at him and holding the plastic bag up. Thomas grimaced, but he took it anyway.

These two had a more stable relationship than anyone Stiles had ever seen. It gave him hope and he enjoyed watching them interact. Even if it did remind him (again) that he was incredibly lonely. At least there was no on-again-off-again shit to follow like there was with Scott and Allison, right?

They filed back into Jaylen's car and left, all of them too in their own heads to care to talk the whole drive to the store.

***

It was weird to see the shop pitch black. It was already an old brick building composed of two entirely different bricks, like people had just shoved two buildings together and prayed. It looked like it might fall apart at any moment. And as much as he loved it during the day, it didn’t ease Stiles’ nerves after seeing the dead body; it only looked like they were walking onto the set of a horror film. Jaylen had mentioned once it used to be a bar, Stiles told her that a bookstore with a bar in it would be perfect. She wasn't entirely convinced.

When they finally got inside, she moved to the back in the dark, obviously not bothered for a minute that she couldn't see because Stiles didn't hear her hit anything. Jaylen really did know the place like the back of her hand. The lights came on a few minutes later and he followed Thomas to the back after her.

"Have you ever been to the back? Like the back-back?" Thomas asked, looking over his shoulder at Stiles. From the way he held himself, asked like there was something to hide, Stiles assumed he was still nervous. But it wasn't the same kind as the crime scene, he almost seemed like he didn't want to take Stiles back there.

"No, but I've heard about it. What's back there? Jaylen said I couldn't-"

"For a reason. No one is supposed to go back there. Even I technically have to play dumb around her family," Thomas warned, stopping Stiles with a hand on his chest. The situation suddenly shifted. This was serious.

"What, you guys got another body back there? There isn't much that could scare me away dude. I did some pretty weird shit at home."

"Yeah, but probably not this kind of weird..." Thomas mumbled. He lowered his hand and took a breath. "Jay said that it wouldn't be a problem if you knew, and I mean, I would love for you to know too but like...just don't freak out. Okay?"

"I'm not going to freak out, okay, my God, Thomas, just let’s go."

"Okay," the other boy sighed, conceding. He was clearly reluctant. Was he afraid Stiles would...leave them?

The two moved slowly into the back room.

It was like actually entering a story (like Stiles' life could get any more adventurous or story-esque).

The walls were covered with shelves and shelves of books. There were bookcases in the middle of the room filled with books. There were piles of books all around the shelves because there was no more space. It was like someone tried to fit the entire world's history of books inside a room that was maybe twice the size of Stiles' dorm room.

It was beautiful, really. Like, absolutely gorgeous. There wasn’t even a set path through all of the books.

If Heaven really did exist, it would be right here with all of these books.

"You guys were holding out on me, you assholes," he said, turning slowly in place to catch every detail of the room that he could. Most of the books were thick, leather-bound, and incredibly old. Automatically, his fingers itched. He wanted to run them along each and every spine. Christmas came a little late, okay, he could so work with that.

But as he got closer to the first set of books, he realized something…peculiar.

The section he was looking at, the first book he looked at, was about werewolves. Not just anything about werewolves or some crappy teen romance, it specifically covered mating patterns of werewolves. Stiles had read an online copy of the book when they were just discovering Scott's problem.

The next book was about different ways to heal werewolves, and how to do it faster naturally.

The next was a history of werewolves.

Stiles backed away quickly, looking at this bookcase as a whole. It covered the W's. Sure, most of the books in there were about werewolves. But there were a few about Wendigoes. There were a few about Wights, and Wraiths, Witches, Wizards, Warlocks, Worgs, Wyverns, Will-O'-Wisps (whatever the fuck that was).

There were hundreds of books, and they covered mythical creatures Stiles had never even heard of.

And was it just this bookcase?

No. Every bookcase Stiles looked at had more and more creatures, more and more myths, more and more lore.

Heaven just somehow magically became better.

And yet...

"Wait. Wait, wait wait...wait..." Stiles started stuttering, holding his hands up and just trying to grasp the concept that _not only did Jaylen have a secret back room filled with books, it was filled with **supernatural** books about everything they would have loved to know three years ago_. And here Stiles was, suddenly being pulled back into a world he had assumed he had left. It sent him reeling.

But only momentarily. Because Jaylen was searching through the books, and she didn't seem confused or perplexed at all. And even though Thomas was standing idly by, not looking at anything, he didn't exactly look like this was some big new thing.

Thomas and Jaylen were aware of the supernatural.

Well no shit. Jaylen's mom had asked Peter for help.

But....but....

"You guys fucking know this shit exists?" He blurted out.

Jaylen glanced at him for a moment before shrugging one shoulder and continuing to look. Thomas winced just a moment before he processed, then perked up.

"Wait, you know it exists?" He asked, face brightening infinitely.

"Yes!" Stiles yelled, though whether it was confusion, frustration, irritation, surprise, or excitement, he really wasn't sure (it was all of them).

"Of course he does, he knows Peter," Jaylen threw in like it was freaking every day knowledge. "I assumed he did the moment he said they knew each other from Beacon Hills. Peter's pack is from there."

Could anyone blame him if he stopped to stutter and gape for a few moments? No. Because Jaylen knew his secret. The thing he had been trying to get away from the whole time he was at school, the fact that he was part of a werewolf pack and had practically died countless times, that he was a freak because he spent more time researching the supernatural than he did studying, and Jaylen figured it out. Not only did she figure it out, but she didn't tell him that she had. And she knew all this time and still didn't show him the back room. Rude.

Plus…who seriously knew that much about Peter?

"What is a real wolf pack like?" Thomas asked while bouncing over to him, grin growing by the second. It was like he had never even thrown up at a dead body an hour ago.  
"Dysfunctional," was the only word Stiles could really think of at the moment.

"Well that's...disappointing," Thomas answered.

“You’re telling me,” Stiles grumbled before he waved his hands frantically and shook his head. "Look, can we not talk about B-town right now? I kind of..."

"No, that's totally cool," Thomas said, lifting his hands quickly in apology. "No argument here. More pressing matters. We have a headless body to research."

"And afterward I am asking Jaylen a million questions about how the hell the room exists and just why you kept it from me," Stiles warned, crossing his arms over his chest and giving her his best attempt at a glare. She remained unfazed.

"My mom doesn't want me talking about it. But I think this is a good cause. Plus you're incredibly smart and very adept at researching, so you can help," Jaylen told him, pulling down a few different books from a section entirely made of "B's.” She shoved them into Stiles' arms (more on top of them and hoped he'd catch them). 

"I guess that makes sense," he mumbled.

The three settled in, spending an hour looking through different books before they all began rubbing at their eyes. It was no luck. Nothing in any of the books they found had information about head eating anything.

There was information about things that ate brains, yeah, or face eaters. There were books on face snatchers, and skin walkers, there were books on bone munchers and creatures that only ate hair.

But there was nothing so far about a creature that ate the head, skull and all, and left the rest of the body.

"Guys, I need to get back to my room and try to catch some sleep before my class," Stiles groaned softly. "My Dad'll be pissed if he finds out I'm losing sleep to research this stuff again. Like, pissed enough to come here and cut off my head himself."

"Okay," Jaylen sighed, though it was more a sigh of exhaustion than one of disappointment. She knew how important studying was. Jaylen maintained a solid 4.0 at all times, job and all. "Want to try and meet up here tomorrow night? We can go over some more. See if we can find anything. I'll talk to my mom and see."

It was settled pretty quickly, because none of them wanted to stay around and lose any more sleep. So they parted, Jaylen heading back home and Thomas walking Stiles to the dorms before heading to his own apartment.

His mind was swirling, sure, and this was definitely a big problem they needed to handle. But he couldn't let himself slip back into this, right? It wasn't his life while he was at school.

It shouldn't be his life no matter what. He was a human in a world that was too strong for him, obviously.

He should be trying to run far, far away.

Once, he was back in the room (luckily his roommate was asleep), he collapsed into bed, wondering just a moment if he should just sleep fully clothed so he would be ready to leave in the morning when his phone buzzed. He rolled his eyes and picked it up, expecting to see Jaylen or Thomas' name sprawled across the screen.

Except in place of Thomas or Jaylen there was a big "WARNING: PETER." The text that flashed simply said "did you already hear the news?"

And this was how he was going to get sucked in. This was how it was going to happen. Peter would be his undoing, because Stiles was already beyond curious, and his brain was aching to do more research, and all of his emotions were firing at all cylinders, and he just...wanted Beacon Hills back. And Peter _knew_ , because how could he not? Peter knew Stiles, and knew what an adrenaline junkie he was, and knew how much he loved the world he left. Peter would bite into him and drag him down.

He simply answered "yes," and dropped his phone next to his side.

There wasn't going to be much sleeping time, was there?

Stiles sat up again, a brief flicker of debate of “will Peter say anymore” came and went just as quickly.

Before he knew it, he was wandering to his large box of books (he hadn't unpacked them because he had nowhere better to put them really), and he reached down to the bottom. He stalled when he felt soft, bendable leather.

The book of magic.

Slowly, he pulled it out, let his fingers trace over the etchings. The same electricity as before licked the tips of them, warmed him.

Yeah, he was definitely about to be sucked in. He should already start making a bacon filled breakfast of apology for his dad.

When his phone buzzed again, he got up and tip-toed back to bed, keeping the book tightly between both hands, like it might just fly away with all of its magical power. What if it decided to spontaneously combust instead? What if it decided to--

Before he let his mind adventure too much, he picked up the phone and glanced at the text.

The text made him drop the book and his phone together.

Peter just...Peter just invited him over. Okay, not "invited," that sounded way too nice. Peter had demanded Stiles come see him and provided an address.

Peter Hale had just invited Stiles to go to his apartment. Peter Hale wanted to see him. Stiles Stilinski was going to be inside Peter Hale's apartment. Not in Beacon Hills. They were going to spend time together like they were old friends, researching murders and gathering information.

Just what exactly was his life coming to?

Without answering, Stiles decided (for his mental health) he should just go to bed.

He crawled between the sheets without even taking his shoes off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, I also totally know that the police would never just let a body be alone like that if they knew about it, they would probably tell the frat to stay there and they would come to them, but...ssshhhh, artistic license.


	4. What Do You Go Home To?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles and Peter spend a fair amount of time trying to figure out what the hell is happening. And then they get into trouble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, so I have a few things to apologize for. Number 1, sorry that the chapter summary is super lackluster, I just didn't really feel inspired for it (not that my summaries are ever very flashy but whatever.) Number 2, sorry that this is later than I would have liked to update. There was a death in my family, as well as a bunch of other stuff happening in my life so the chapters might be more sporadic than I originally intended. Number 3, the chapters keep getting longer, which I would like to pretend is the opposite of a problem, but who knows.
> 
> Anyway, as usual, CloveeD beta'd this chapter for me, and she is the light of my life helping me with so much stuff, including my incessant whining. So thank you, you beautiful human.
> 
> In other news, most of this chapter is Steter interaction. And just kinda me indulging in Peterness.

Call it a hunch, but Peter didn't doubt that Stiles would stop by his apartment later that night.

It wasn't like he needed to do anything for Stiles' visit. Everything in his apartment was always in its exact spot, nothing went touched that wasn't placed back exactly how it was previously. His floors were always finely swept, his bookcases dusted, his clothes picked up off the floor.

It hardly looked like anyone lived there at all.

And frankly, that was how he liked it.

While Peter had always been a stickler for cleanliness and hygiene, ever since the fire he had lived like a man obsessed with empty space. Which wasn't to say that he didn't decorate his apartment, no. He wasn't like Derek. He didn't enjoy anything making him actually _think_ of the care facility he had stayed in for years. He didn't like white and pastel and blank and sterilization. There was a difference between sterilized and being cleanly, orderly.

There was a lot color in his apartment. It was normally rich, cooler tones. The walls in almost every room were some different shade of dark blue. The floor was a warm colored wood. He had a couch, and two very comfortable chairs, all black leather of course. He had many paintings on the walls, usually abstract; he understood them better that way. Hell, he even had various glass and metal pieces around his apartment. But they all tended to contrast the cool; they stood out in vibrant, warm colors against the blue. Oh, and he of course had all of his bookcases, naturally filled to the brim with books.

He had a laptop, and a desktop, the desktop which he built himself. He rather enjoyed the internal workings of the computer, actually. It all fit together like a puzzle.

Peter even had a nice flat screen TV hanging on the wall of his apartment.

But everything else was dead space. Quiet nothingness that he never seemed to get enough of. There was no unnecessary clutter, no overabundance of noise, nothing to take up the extra space but him.

Of course, he enjoyed listening to music; in fact he had a rather eclectic taste, enjoying different kinds of genres and artists from all regions of the world. On occasion he also enjoyed watching the TV or listening to NPR. However, for the most part he enjoyed silence. Emptiness was comforting, and so he didn't enjoy mess. Maybe it was nearing on neurotic, OCD tendencies, but Peter never cared much for psychology or mental health anyway. There wasn't really a cure for him, at this point, so why bother?

Either way, there was no need for him to rush to clean his apartment for Stiles, which was necessary because _manners mattered_ and Peter wouldn’t be found a slob; so it was just a simple waiting game.

He handled his own business, went about his day, but as the afternoon went on, edged into night, he grew slightly antsy.

Stiles would come, he knew he would come, but Peter rather enjoyed going to bed at a relatively normal time, considering he wasn't actually a college student, and Stiles apparently wasn't going to be seen anywhere near his apartment in broad daylight.

It provided Peter with far too much time to think, coming to the conclusion that a false sense of security is still a sense of security, and Stiles needed security, so a false sense of security he would create. He moved to the kitchen remembering just how much he had ached for a home cooked meal when he was in college. Stiles would most likely be no different. It might also work as an ice breaker.

The werewolf didn't doubt Stiles had a million questions for him as well, and instead of trying to relax Stiles enough to ask those question with words, he could do it with food. Providing for him might just cut their time spent together in half. Not that Peter despised his time with Stiles, per say. Though it was surprising that he was so ready to jump to bring him some kind of comfort.

He got to work. He needed dinner anyway, and making a bit more than he would eat himself wasn't abnormal. He decided on a simple stirfry. Each and every vegetable in his refrigerator already cut and placed into square and rectangle containers that pieced together perfectly. Because yes, even his refrigerator was the perfect picture of utter organization.  
With all the time in the world, what else was there to do but to clean and make perfect?

He cooked. In his very quiet, very organized, very colorful kitchen. He almost made it a point not to have anything white or cream-colored or gross pastel-colored in the entire apartment. Those colors, they were all IVs, and wheelchairs, and the scent of generic cleaning products. They were the absence of family. The absence of anyone really. No one but his nurse.

Not that she had ever been a comfort either. Peter hadn't exactly mourned her when she died, when he’d killed her. He never cared.

How long had it even taken him to get her body out of that car? He couldn't remember...

Did he ever get her body out of that car?

The thought made him pause briefly, trying to think back to his chaotic rage. In all honesty, he didn't remember most of it. It had all mixed together after the resurrection, his last few months of being alive. 

Oddly enough, the coma he remembered vividly. Even more did he remember waking from it the first time, taking that first breath in complete consciousness.

The rest...well...it all went downhill from there. Most of it was red and fire. Or nothingness.

But there was Stiles. He remembered Stiles. He remembered the boy's wrist pressed against his mouth. Remembered the stuttering heartbeat, the thick way he swallowed down his nerves, the way red looked against his skin tone.

Peter didn't think about the time after his coma often, but whenever he did, he always thought of Stiles. 

He had bitten Scott, killed Laura, torn apart all of those who had played any part in the fire, save Derek. And yet the only thing he could remember in his revenge-driven Alpha state was the shocked face when Stiles realized just who the Alpha was. The confused fascination when Peter miraculously knew his name. The curiosity and brave stupidity he maintained in the face of a monster, craving just a peek at something he didn't understand, intrigue outweighing safety. The quickened breath, and then complete loss of when Peter offered the bite. The quiver of his lip when he saw Lydia covered in blood. Or the merciless brutality in which he threw that first Molotov. Oh yes, Peter remembered Stiles.

The thing was, it wasn't like Peter fixated on the boy. Sure, he was an interesting little thing; the way his mind worked was just so much more advanced, but Peter didn't actually care for him, not in any amount. He didn't wake up one day and decide that Stiles would be the thing he based his days around, or used him as a constant in a scrambled series of events.

Originally, he wasn’t even interested in the human at all either. He was a human, he was weaker, he was irritating as Hell, he could barely keep track of everything happening in his own life.

But for some reason, Peter couldn't help it. Stiles became a better calendar than any Peter had ever used when trying to remember the order of events that had happened. He helped keep things straight.

This was one more reason why, the werewolf supposed, he'd given Stiles the book of magic. He knew his potential and wanted him to achieve it, if only because he would prove to everyone that the pack had a weak link-but it had never been the human. Stiles would become more powerful than all of them, and Peter could smirk knowing that he caused it, something the pack would want so desperately, and be absolutely terrified of.

The sun sank, shadows stretched across his kitchen. Each moment ticked away slowly.

Truthfully, it would have been much more annoying if Peter wasn't always so patient. He'd learned over the course of his life that patience got you very far. The more patient a person could be, well, you can take down anyone's defenses if you wait long enough. He just needed to wait, and Stiles' curiosity would break him.

Water could always take down a mountain if it was patient enough.

***

After finishing the stirfry, he grabbed a small bowl for himself and left the rest to stay heated on the stove. Just as he got ready to sit at the table, half past nine, he heard the tell-tale sound of the Jeep, cautiously approaching.

While patience was a thing the werewolf had in plenty, he also had pride and ego to match, both of which made it impossible to keep the smirk from forming on his face at the noise.  
Stiles had arrived, just like he wanted him to.

The Jeep pulled into a spot on the street. The teen got out, trying to close the door as quietly as possible. He paused, bouncing from foot to foot for a moment, obviously debating if this was a wise decision. Steps turning determined, Stiles marched up to the apartment complex, stalled, most likely to look up at the massive building, and then took in a breath. Took in two. Peter could hear them, barely there whispers in the night.

Then he buzzed.

"I'm here," he said into the intercom, voice flat, clearly trying to keep any kind of emotion from it. It was adorable, really, how controlled he tried to make himself look in the presence of the wolf, like Peter couldn't _tell_.

"Ah, Stiles, didn't know if you were going to make it," Peter answered from above, having walked from the kitchen to the front door. He only imagined the teen rolling his eyes, but he buzzed him up anyway.

As Peter unlocked the door, he heard Stiles shuffle into the building and head for the elevator. Laziness. Were the stairs really so difficult?

The conversation Stiles had with himself on the way up was also quite charming. Peter enjoyed his soliloquy of "this is a bad idea, this is such a bad idea, the moment he tries something I am going to wolf's bane him in the face," it was incredibly theatrical, and very rehearsed, like he'd been chanting it all day. Darling, really.

As the elevator doors opened, Peter also opened his door, casting his most charming smile out at the boy who was so thoroughly hunched down into his hoodie, hands in his pockets, that he looked like he no longer had a neck. Or shoulders really.

This was a shame indeed; Stiles had just a beautiful neck.

"Pleasure for you to stop by," Peter told him sweetly as the teen walked toward the apartment door.

Stiles looked inside, hesitated just a moment, and then took the first step in. He didn't bother looking at Peter, like he was so intent on making this the most brusque, unpleasant house visit he had ever made in his life. How warming,

"Did you buy your apartment from a 'Better Homes' magazine?" Stiles asked, eyes scanning the apartment. "Seriously, it doesn't even look like someone lives here. Are you squatting?"

"I'm sure seeing the floor in any room is rather startling for you," Peter sighed, more to himself than the other. He was absolutely certain that Stiles' dormitory was not the picture of cleanliness. Maybe to the point that it was, in fact, the birth place and breeding ground for germs.

"What do you mean by that?" Stiles asked sharply, though he finally looked up at Peter. More like, snapped his neck up to look at the wolf.

Why was he suddenly so defensive?

"That your clothes and other various items are inevitably scattered all over the place?" Peter supplied, brow furrowing together. "You know, it's really not funny if you have to explain the joke."

"You know it's really--" Stiles started, but seemed to rein himself back in. He turned away from the werewolf and ran a hand through his already messy hair. "Never mind, why did you invite me here? This the part where you kill me?"

"I don't know, is your will in order?"

"You invited me here, why are you--what are you eating?"

"Stirfry."

There was a pause, one in which Stiles stared at the bowl, face momentarily contradictory, and then he wet his lips, just once. It was exactly what Peter had intended. The wolf smirked, just a little, and then held the bowl out.

"You can try it, if you would like," Peter told him, offering the fork as well.

Stiles seemed less interested when prompted to use the same fork as Peter had, his nose wrinkling quickly. In fact, he even took a step back. Which was most likely supposed to be hurtful, and had Peter been easily offended by such an act, it might have been, but as it turns out, he wasn't. Stiles being bothered by him didn't bother him in the least. They weren't friends, and whatever odd fascination Peter had with the teen, the teen did not return it. That wasn't hurtful.

It was smart.

"If not, I have more in the kitchen, uncontaminated by saliva as is."

The teen hovered, hesitated. Then he slid the backpack off his shoulder and placed it by the door. It wasn't a sign of trust, but it was a sign that he intended to stay. Peter smirked to himself before hiding it around a bite of rice.

While Stiles moved to grab a few books and then take up residence on the couch, Peter made his way to the kitchen to fetch Stiles the rest of the stirfry from the stove. As he was picking up the pan, Stiles' scent suddenly flooded the air. It wasn't surprising that he didn’t want to leave Peter alone.

"Is there something else I could get you?" Peter asked quietly. He didn’t turn around.

"No, just that whole thing about always watching someone prepare things you're going to ingest."

"You don't trust me? I'm shocked," the wolf’s tone shifted dry.

"Yeah, I'll bet," Stiles huffed out, arms crossing before leaning against the door frame.

Peter finally turned and stretched out a hand with a new, fresh bowl of stirfry for the teen. "I have no desire to be the monster at the end of your book, Stiles. And all of my poison is in the other room anyway. Why risk poisoning myself?"

As Peter flashed what he believed was another charming smile, Stiles' jaw dropped in momentary shock, then he recovered quickly to glare at the wolf. "Har, har, har," he snarked back. Stubbornly, purposefully, he chomped down on a piece of broccoli, chewing loudly and obnoxiously.

Good, their relationship was developing nicely.

Shortly after, Peter found himself sitting on a chair in his living room, across from Stiles who was on the couch, swearing that the food was only “okay” as he practically inhaled it. Well, that wasn't exactly the way he described it. It was more along the lines of "wow, the stirfry isn't the worst. Didn't ever imagine you could cook. Anything. At all. Ever."

Peter had simply rolled his eyes, debating whether he should just tell Stiles that it was okay to pay him a compliment for something he did well. In no way would the teen burst into flames, or melt in holy water, because he thought that Peter was able to make stirfry.

It really didn't matter.

"So," Stiles started after fiddling with several of the books he brought. His form was pulled tight together, like he was trying to concentrate himself in a space he felt uncomfortable. Stiles was uncomfortable being in Peter's apartment, and yet he still arrived, was still there. So stubborn. "What? You wanted to talk about the body, right?"

"It was the original intention, yes," Peter answered, finishing up his last bit of vegetables and placing the bowl gently down on an end table.

"Original? What do you want to talk about now?"

"Do you document and decrypt every person's choice of words so thoroughly or am I just lucky?"

"You said original, so that means that you have to have something else you would like to talk about now."

Peter rolled his eyes again, arguing with himself whether he was irritated or simply tired. He decided to go with tired, it was getting late after all. He placed his arms on the arm rests of the chair before leaning back. Maybe relaxing would relax Stiles anyway.

"What exactly has Jaylen found out about the body?" The wolf asked, watching the teen carefully.

Instead of shrinking under his gaze, Stiles seemed to rise to the challenge, seemed to unravel himself a bit, took up more space. In brief concentration, he wet his lips as well. It was the small little ticks that made Stiles whole, and they were all very him. It was comforting.

"Well," the boy started, "she thinks that bugs did it. There were a lot of small trails of blood leading away from the body like bugs came in and took a piece and left. But it was only the head, and it was _all_ of the head." He grimaced and wrinkled his nose in disgust, a clear sign he didn't enjoy what he saw the previous night. Not that Peter imagined he did. Not many people could stomach the sight of a body, and while Stiles had seen his fair share, more than he should at seventeen, it still wasn't a pleasant sight.

Peter had never cared. Bodies were just bodies, just meat. The person inside them was long gone. It was no different than seeing a steak.

"It sounds like there's a catch," Peter told him, though he already knew the answer. He most likely knew more than they did. Maybe as a demonstration of dormant power, of smugness, Peter rested his cheek delicately on his first, the utter view of valuable information.

And Stiles caught on.

"You know what did it..." Stiles said bluntly, eyes zeroing in on Peter and holding his gaze. He must have been looking for tells.

"I have an idea, yes," Peter granted.

"Was it you?" The teen asked, so full of confidence, so accusatory, like Peter would actually tell him.

"And why would I have any desire to take the head off of some girl who is of no importance to me?"

"You know it's a girl."

"I know a lot of things."

There was a pause before Stiles furrowed his brow in contemplation. Then he asked, "why do you care about it so much then?"

While it should have been a question Peter expected, he actually hadn't. He hadn't even really stopped to think about it himself, which was peculiar. There had been a murder that didn't concern him in any way, shape, or form, and yet he had spent a fair amount of the day wondering just what had happened, which supernatural creature did it this time? He didn't...he didn't really have a solid answer. For once.

"The kill was on my territory and I'd rather be the only one allowed to kill in my territory," Peter finally responded. In an extra display of nonchalance, he shrugged one shoulder.

Stiles thought about it just a moment before nodding, obviously satisfied that Peter would still kill, and that he was still an ego maniac. Predictable.

"Then what do you think it is? Cause I got a few theories, but none of them really make sense, and even Jaylen's huge book room didn't help."

Peter smirked a moment, suddenly interested again. "Jaylen showed you the back room, did she?"

"Yes," Stiles said, clearly holding back from going on about how much he actually enjoyed it.

"You know, there are books of magic there."

"Well, when I meet someone who practices magic, I'll be sure to let them know."

"Come, come, now Stiles, that's no way to talk after the gift that I gave you."

"I'm not here to talk about magic. You asked me here to talk about the body. I'm telling you that I'm not sure."

After a soft sigh, Peter stood from the chair and gathered his bowl, then he went to grab Stiles' empty once as well before he headed into the kitchen. For once, he put the dishes in the sink and left them, didn't wash them immediately. It was an odd feeling.

"It wasn't a normal kind of insect, that much is certain. There were no traces of any other type of insect, and on a body left in the woods, that's not unlikely, that's impossible. So my assumption is a type of insect that would scent the area, in a way, to keep others from arriving," Peter finally supplied, taking his seat back. The brief movement, the separation, had been helpful in that Stiles had relaxed a bit more in that time. He had a pencil clamped between his teeth, and his legs stretched out at last. "But I would agree that assuming it is a type of insect would be more accurate than assuming it is something controlling a type of insect. I don't know of a creature that would do this. At least not to a human."

Time stretched between them for a moment. It would have been awkward if they let it be, but oddly it was a comfortable silence. For a brief moment, very, very brief, Peter let himself feel what it might be like if he lived with another person, had someone around him more often. And then the feeling was gone.

It didn't really matter.

"Have any idea where bug creatures might be hanging out?" Stiles finally asked. He was busy playing with the corner of one of his books, like he wanted to suggest going to investigate, but he didn't want to suggest Peter go with him. With effort to remain nonconfrontational, in a way, he kept his eyes from anywhere near Peter's direction.

It was disappointing,

And also an incredibly stupid question. Where else would killer bugs be hanging out, the mall? Peter restrained himself, with great strength, from rolling his eyes.

Without answering, he stood again, and walked to grab his coat and put on his boots. Couldn’t run around the woods in loafers now, could he? "I'm going to go out on a limb and suggest the woods to be a good place to start. Obviously."

The skin of Stiles' cheeks tinted slightly pink before he scrambled up from the couch and started shoving his books back into his bag. "Well, duh, the woods, no shit. But like, anywhere besides the most obvious place, y'know, where we found her body? Maybe it's another Darach! Ms. Blake controlled those bugs the one time..."

"Don't bring her up again," Peter was not so successful at holding back his eyeroll this time. He didn't feel like being reminded of one of his past kills. Mostly because she had been such an annoying thorn in his side, rather than him being bothered by it. He wasn't. Clearly.

It had been necessary.

"Don't tell me that you were all bewitched by her too."

"Hardly," Peter huffed a moment before simply rolling his eyes again. "Answer this for me, speaking of insects, do you talk about one after you’ve squash it?"

"Sometimes if it's a really big one," Stiles answered without missing a beat. "Have you seen those big wolf spiders? I take one of those down, man, I am definitely calling Scott and telling him about my epic battle, who wouldn't?"

Honestly, Peter didn't even have a response. He simply stared at Stiles, eyebrows raised, patiently waiting for the intelligence he knew the boy had to actually rise to the surface. When it didn't show, he very dryly supplied a "right," and moved on. "I wouldn't put magic past this, but I don't think it is the only explanation either. Do you remember where the body was found?"

"I could probably find it, yeah, but--"

"Then let’s take a field trip," The werewolf grinned, clapping his hands together once and a near spring in his step as he went for the door. 

"We're doing what now?" Stiles asked, his body reacting to the thought of heading out, already slipping on his shoes, but his mind clearly at odds, because he was seemingly confused at himself for moving on Peter's command. It was amusing. "You think I'm going out into the woods, with you, alone?"

"I do, yes."

"Yeah, that is so not going to happen."

"Stiles, come now," the wolf said, stalking up behind the teen, leaning down into his personal space while the boy kneeled, lacing his shoes. Peter inclined his head toward the boy’s ear. Stiles needed that drive, that need, that curiosity to follow through. "Where's your sense of adventure?"

"Do _not_ ," Stiles stressed, clapping his hands down over his ears. His body shivered, just slightly, and Peter caught it despite the teen's attempt at hiding it. It was...intriguing. "Do _not_ whisper in my ear like that."

"Why?" The wolf asked, leaning in just a little more, voice low. "Does it bother you?"

" _Yes_ , not to mention _it's creepy_. Invasion of personal space much?"

"As you wish, my sincerest apologies," Peter drawled, which of course earned him a _look_ in return, and if Stiles didn't have some of the most amusing reactions to watch, then Peter didn't know which way was up. He smirked at the teen before backing away, as promised.

"I'm sure," Stiles grumbled to himself. He managed a few more grumbled words, but Peter didn't really focus on hearing them. The teen did, however, seem to realize he wasn't getting out of going back into the woods, and after a series of miniature flailing fits, managed to finish lacing his shoes and get his coat on.

The moment they were both ready, they headed down and out to Stiles' Jeep, if only because, as Stiles made clear, he was "not getting into a car that he was not in control of, because you might kidnap me and chain me up inside a basement or give me to weird wolfy friends."

***

Being in the woods was a comfortable thing. It made this contingent sort of contentedness settle in Peter's chest. It could really only be chalked up to his wolf. A wolf felt more comfortable secluded in the woods than in the city. And here they were, the wolf and the boy, walking through the woods together, neither one speaking a word. Stiles seemed intent on watching the fogged breath escape between his lips, and Peter was, honestly, placated in watching Stiles out of the corner of his eye.

After walking for a while, Stiles finally seemed restless enough to break the tension. He moved a bit closer to Peter, his arm just barely brushing against the wolf's. Maybe it was just the quietness, or maybe the intensity of the situation, or just how alert Peter was, but he became hyperaware of the body next to his.

Stiles was taller than him, by just a little, Peter wasn’t sure if he ever noticed before. He looked tired, but oddly aware, like he had had a few cups of coffee just before coming over even though he didn't sleep the night before. Knowing Stiles, he might not have. The boy's hand came up to rub at his eyes, skin getting just a little pink around the permanent dark circles there. Humans were so easily exhausted. Just looking at him almost made Peter feel tired for him.

It was slightly embarrassing, and definitely alarming, because Peter spent so much time categorizing Stiles' different features that he completely missed the scent of blood in the air at first. At first.

Except when he realized it, it was far too strong, and they were far too close, and Peter stopped immediately in his place before looking down. Just in front of him were the trails of blood.  
In a last minute reaction, his arm shot out to grab Stiles' sharply around the bicep and pull him back. The teen squawked, something he desperately tried to cover up, and then glared at Peter like the wolf had just taken his first born child instead.

"I saw it was there!" He hissed while yanking his arm from Peter's grasp and adjusting his several layers of coat and hoodie and flannel and whatever else he might be wearing.  
"Clearly," Peter answered, looking down at the few streaks of blood on the front of Stiles' Converse.

"I have incredible situational awareness, excuse you," Stiles griped.

"That's not a thing."

"Dude it totally is," the boy argued, at least until he had a thought and his entire persona seemed to change. "Wait, you watch Archer too?"

"No."

"Oh." The teen hesitated and shifted his feet. "Well. Nevermind, but still, I totally saw the spot. I recognized the tree formation."

"You did not."

"Did you even need me to find this?" Stiles asked as his arms shot out to his sides. "Couldn't you have smelled it out with your special bloodhound powers?"

"I could have," Peter answered. He only offered a half shrug as a suggestion he was thinking about it. Then he smirked at Stiles, watched the boy try to keep up his guarded attitude. Before he spoke, he dropped his voice low, watched Stiles' cheeks tinge with the slightest color. "But where's the fun in that, without you as my guide all alone in the woods?"

"I am sure you could manage. Dead girl in the middle of the woods? Seems right up your alley and all too familiar," Stiles grumbled to himself before looking over the scene.

After a quick eyeroll, Peter scanned the ground as well. It was bloody still, obviously. There was only so much cleanup crews could do in the woods. The trails were no longer distinct, but there was still a pattern. A few good rains and it would be gone.

Somewhere in the background, Peter was aware of Stiles speaking, talking quickly about something, but the wolf was far too interested in the ground before him. So he crouched down, ran his fingers along a few of the blood-strained leaves, and brought them up to examine.

There was a lot of blood. It was definitely a violent sort of death.

Slowly, Peter dug into the ground. He ignored whatever exclamation Stiles hissed at him, probably to stop what he was doing, or to find out what he was doing, didn't matter. After a few moments of digging, he had his answer.

"You know anywhere in the woods that wouldn't have worms?" He asked quietly.

"What does that have to do with--?"

Stiles cut off at a low buzzing noise. It happened suddenly, without warrant, and it seemed to surround them. The teen's entire body tensed, and he frantically looked around for the source of the noise.

Peter, on the other hand, just waited, poised, calm.

The buzzing noise escalated, and seemed to drift into separate intonations. It wasn't just one thing making the noise, it was hundreds of things.

"Does it kind of sound like...flies to you?" Stiles asked quietly. He took a step toward Peter, which the werewolf didn't miss. He would stash it for later, of course, but it almost looked like he had chosen the lesser of two evils. Peter was the devil he knew, and the devil he knew was better than the devil he didn't. Stiles was looking at Peter as some kind of protection.

It was strangely endearing.

"Not flies," Peter said, lowering his voice to the same level.

As he stood, he also took a step closer to the teen, which earned him another step from Stiles.

"Wasn't that girl...killed by insects?" Stiles mumbled out of the corner of his mouth.

"Yes."

"Then why the fuck are we still standing here?"

"We're surrounded," Peter warned.

Like a seal breaking, the noise rose tremendously, enough that Peter's hands flew to his ears. Even Stiles' did, though his hearing wasn’t as evolved. And just as the noise sounded, the night seemed to move around them, moonlight shining off the backs of hundreds of large black...what?

"Your hood!" Peter shouted, grabbing the hood of Stiles' hoodie and dragging it over his head for him. "Hood on, keep it on!"

"But--"

"No questions! Not now!" Maybe that was said with a bit more of a growl than he meant to, but the teen needed to realize that at this moment, he had no power over the situation, and listening to someone more skilled in the supernatural was the smarter choice.

He listened.

The boy grabbed the strings of his hoodie and pulled them tight, his hood covering over his face. He managed to say, muffled through the fabric, "what, are we just going to stand here and let them--?"

Without more of an invitation necessary, Peter grabbed the front of Stiles' coat, balled it tightly in his fist and _moved_.

But it all turned into a blur. They were there, and there were hundreds, no, thousands of hissing, buzzing, shrieking insects racing at them from all angles, crawling over dead leaves and too-dry dirt.

It was hard to make out exactly what kind of insects they were, or at least they weren't a kind that Peter had ever seen. The only things he did notice were that his legs were moving, purposefully, quickly, necessarily. Stiles was breathing, gasping actually, and stumbling with his loss of eyesight.

Peter led him. Peter led him, and he was sure to keep the hood over the boy's head.

And for good reason.

Somewhere between the gasps of breath and the burning of muscle, there was pain. Peter felt a sharp pain contact the back of his neck, pierce him like claws, but that wasn't it.

He slashed back, not caring about his own claws making contact with his neck, but just wanted the sharp pain gone. He squashed the perpetrator in his hand, dug in his claws so forcefully through the thing's body that they broke into his palm.

How dare something as insignificant as an insect try to harm him, try to take his head?

"OW-FUCk--" Stiles hissed, his hand waving wildly around his head, trying to blindly get rid of an insect that perched on top of his hood.

Peter swiped that too. But he kept moving. He ignored the unsure, cautious exclamations from Stiles, and didn't mind that the teen had, at some point, grabbed onto his arm for support while trying to run through the woods blindfolded.

It was an interesting amount of trust dedicated to Peter that the wolf wasn't aware Stiles had.

But then there was the tree line, and Stiles' Jeep, and it was a shining beacon of safety. Because Peter wasn't entirely interested in dying again, least of all by such pointless creatures. And Stiles' safety wasn't his top priority, but he really couldn't just _leave_ the boy in the woods to fend for himself, could he? Jaylen would be so upset; he would never hear the end of it.  
The moment they reached the Jeep, he opened the passenger door and shoved Stiles' inside. The teen sighed in relief, shouted out how much he loved his car, and was already taking his hood off and slipping the key into the ignition while Peter did his best to keep any of the creatures from getting into the car with them. He slammed the door closed; effectively cutting one in half, and it gave him a sick satisfaction to watch the legs twitch helplessly against the car door.

Just as the insects started to crawl onto the car, Stiles shifted gears and slammed his foot on the gas. The sudden change in movement caused most of the insects to fly off, and whatever ones were still stuck, Stiles did his best to sweep them off with the windshield wipers, whooping while he did so.

They reached the road, speeding down and swerving occasionally on the off-chance some of the bugs were still there. Stiles didn't stop, even at stop lights, until he was parked back in front of Peter's apartment complex, breath coming in short, quick bursts, chest heaving, cheeks red and windblown. And adrenaline vibrating underneath his skin.

"That was awesome!" He finally announced, throwing a huge grin at Peter.

Awesome wasn't particularly the word the werewolf would use, but sure, fine. Awesome. "Of course," he muttered, glancing out the window to see if he could find any remaining guests on the car. Not that he could see.

Assuming this was the end of their adventure, Peter opened the door, gathered the left over half of the bug, and brought his handkerchief out from his back pocket to wipe off both blood and insect slime from his hand before wrapping the insect half in the cloth.

"Where are you going?" Stiles asked suddenly, jerking forward and _toward_ him. He looked momentarily confused, or maybe panicked. Interesting. Then again, who wouldn't be after being chased by killer insects?

"Into my apartment?" Peter suggested, lifting his eyebrows at the question because where else would he be going?

"You're bleeding."

"Yes, I'm aware. I'll heal."

"My stuff is still upstairs."

"Then come and get it."

Once again, silence stretched between them, and it gave Stiles the choice. Come upstairs and get his stuff, possibly stay. Or leave right then and there.

When the teen didn't answer or move, just stared at the werewolf, Peter took in a quiet breath and softened. "I would assume you need to get back. It's late, and you have a roommate who, I'm sure, will not be too pleased with you coming back at this hour enough already. You also have studies you need to go home to."

A question seemed to rise to Stiles' lips, but he paused, hesitant, like if he said too much he might cross a line, which was always possible with Peter. Stiles liked to think about his words. So Peter stayed an eye roll, and made a small hand gesture to continue, but the question wasn't at all what he believed it would be.

"Well, what do you go home to?" He asked, unsure, and rather poetic really. It wasn't very much like Stiles at all.

"Silence," Peter stated immediately. Quietness and empty space. Quietness and his own mind. Preterition.

It seemed as if Stiles wanted to ask something else, he nervously wiped his hands across his thighs, fiddled with the pant leg on his knee. It was so entirely Stiles, and Peter knew he shouldn't take the situation for anything more than face value, because he didn't _care_ , but something in the air between them made him feel like there was something more significant at play than what he was aware of.

Stiles' lips parted, he opened his mouth to speak, the empty words hanging in the air.

And then he closed his mouth again.

And then the moment was gone.

"Uh, right, let me just...let me just grab my stuff," Stiles stuttered, quickly clambering to put the car in park and turn the key.

They didn't really speak on the way up to the apartment, not more than for Peter to say he got a specimen. Stiles just gave an acknowledging hum.

The boy grabbed his things and left, leaving Peter in his empty nothingness, his quiet peace.

It was what he enjoyed, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yayyyy two more chapters left! And then we move onto the next book in the series...


	5. Catastrophe and the Cure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After realizing that they are up against a group of bugs, Stiles and Peter decide research is the best option. Research and investigation. The investigation part is what lands them in trouble. And really, Stiles couldn't be more glad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! So, I moved faster on this chapter than the last, and the next chapter will hopefully be up pretty quickly too. But then that means the end of this book, and we move onto the next! They are somewhat maybe warming up to each other too yay.
> 
> I am going to warn you about gross bug things and gore for this chapter. I tried to make it...poetic gore?? Anyway, enjoy. I actually really like bugs and insects. Except centipedes. *shiver*
> 
> CloveeD got to listen to me complain about this chapter too @@ sorry bb.
> 
> Also, wanted to thank all of you for your wonderful comments! I love them! They totally help keep me motivated, so thank you thank you thank you. I hope you enjoy!

"I can't find one single stupid bug that looks like this thing," Stiles groaned, dragging his hands down his face to the point he pulled his lower eyelids down and rolled his eyes back. He knew it wasn't his most attractive look, but why would he ever try to be attractive for Peter? It wasn't like the werewolf would even notice, and if he did it would probably feel akin to having a construction worker know how attractive you are, bursting into several inappropriate jibes and trying to convince you to come over so they can just 'admire the view more.'

Why was he thinking about being attractive for Peter? Ew, no, that line of thinking needed to stop, right now.

(Even if the older man was totally--- _nope, not going there_.)

The werewolf himself just cast a look at Stiles from where he was reading his book, and he didn't roll his eyes but Stiles was aware he wanted to. Peter had been holding back on being super snarky that day, it was interesting to observe.

"You're not going to find anything if you don't keep reading," Peter told him calmly, his eyes falling back onto the large, old volume in his hands. _He_ didn't have to research bugs. This was stupid.

"I can't sit anymore," Stiles complained, just a little bit. He was allowed that, okay?

"Then go get a glass of water," Peter answered, dry as can be.

"Wow, that sounds so thrilling, I am so excited to do that. This is my greatest dream. I finally get to do what I was always--"

"Overused sarcasm is not going to sway me on the issue," the werewolf said, again without looking up, and Stiles suddenly felt the urge to hit the book out of the older man's hand. Like he had any room to talk.

They had been sitting in Peter's apartment for _hours_ now. When Stiles got there it was only a little past eleven (AM at that, what the hell? Stiles should still be fast asleep!), and now the sun was setting, and the soft colors softened the room, and they softened the werewolf, and they softened the quiet tension that had formed between them throughout the day. Peter had been forced to deal with Stiles' rambling and fidgeting, Stiles had been forced to deal with Peter's vague statements and momentary breaks to contact "friends." (What friends could Peter have though, really?)

But if he was honest with himself, it wasn't _all_ bad. Peter had made him lunch, after all. And it was a really, really good sandwich (not that he would ever admit it). Except now his stomach was rumbling again, and it was way past dinner time, and after the stirfry Peter had made the previous day, and the sandwich Peter had made earlier, Stiles was wondering if he could pressure the wolf into making him more food.

He was a growing boy or whatever, he needed good homemade food, and the crap in the dining hall was gross, and so sue him that he actually thought Peter was a good cook. There needed to be at least _one_ positive thing about the werewolf, right?

Idly, he traced the outline of the insect staring up at him from the page. Hours of research and nothing to account for. He hadn't even heard from Jaylen in a few hours, so that was useless. She must not have found anything either.

After cracking his knuckles, stretching his back, yawning loudly enough to get a look from Peter, and wiggling in his spot on the couch, Stiles finally stood up and groaned, bending over to touch his toes.

"How can you sit like this for so looonnnngggg," he groaned, rising back to a stand and pulling his arms behind him to stretch _every possible muscle in his body because ugh_. Except now Peter really was watching him, in fact, Stiles had his full attention.

But it only lasted a moment. As soon as Peter started speaking, effectively snapping out of his stare, the werewolf looked down at his book again. "I understand something called patience," he droned.

Stiles rolled his eyes before pacing around Peter's living room.

It was roomy, and comfortable. Lots of bright colors, which wasn't what he expected at all, not after being in Derek's loft so much. It was also ridiculously clean; just...dust didn't even seem to exist in the place. It wasn't like anything Stiles was used to. As much as he and his dad tried, their house never seemed clean enough, and somehow no matter how much cleaning they did, it just went back to the way it had been after a few hours.

But Peter's apartment...it really did look like something out of a catalog.

Not that that was a bad thing, just interesting. It was a detail that Stiles needed to take into consideration in his observation of Peter, and that was it.

Really, the time he had been spending with the man wasn't the worst thing in the world. Sure, Peter could be irritating, and arrogant, and eerily predatory, but he wasn't bad company.

It was more like Peter enjoyed company, but didn't want anyone to know he enjoyed it. He was like a cat, just conveniently in the same room with other people, but totally was _not enjoying_ there being other people in the room. But if you so happened to pay attention to him, he wasn't going to snub you.

But no belly rubs.

Which was a bad line of thought, because now Stiles was actually picturing giving Peter a bully rub and oh God, abort, abort, abort.

He tripped over his own foot, stumbled, and caught himself quickly by grabbing onto one of Peter's many book cases. Stiles felt his cheeks heat immediately, and he hoped, God, he hoped that Peter treated that graceful moment just as he had all of Stiles' ramblings that day: by making an acknowledging noise but not actually looking up and....

Nope, Peter was staring at him, an annoying, amused sort of smirk on his lips that was just barely there.

"Haven't got your sea legs yet?" He asked almost sweetly.

Werewolves were assholes.

"Ha ha, very funny," Stiles grumbled while he tried to adjust his clothes. Nonchalance was the thing to aim for.

The wolf gave a little huff of a chuckle before closing the book and getting up from his seat. "I can only assume you have been trying to think of a way to get me to make you dinner?" He asked. And damn it all, but he pulled up the sleeves of his stupid V-neck sweater halfway up his forearm and _no_.

Wasn’t there some psychological disease in which two people working in close proximity to each other started getting…feelings of maybe not hatred? Not Stockholm Syndrome, no, super not that but…Stiles must be feeling something similar to notice something like _that_.

"A good host wouldn't wait for their guest to ask." Stiles huffed.

"I didn't, did I?"

Stiles paused, stared at him, because no, Peter didn't wait. He crossed his arms over his chest petulantly and looked away. "Took you long enough."

"I got tired of listening to your stomach growl. You have no idea how loud it is."

"It hasn't growled out loud once!"

Peter just gave him a _look_ before strolling into the kitchen, calm and collected as ever. Right, werewolf.

With him gone, Stiles began to look a little bit more at the art in Peter's apartment, or at the books on his shelves. The art was interesting, but Stiles never cared for abstract stuff really. Why bother painting if it wasn't to make a picture? That whole splatters on a canvas thing just never made sense, too illogical. But they were enjoyable to look at. Peter at least had good taste in aesthetic.

The books, on the other hand, were awesome. Peter almost had a different bookcase for each genre. He had snobbish classic literature, in which he had several copies of _The Prince_ , including the one he had been looking at the first time they ran into each other at the store. He had a bookcase for more modern literature, though it seemed like he was making his way through _Life of Pi_ on that one. There was nonfiction, thrillers and mysteries, textbook nonfiction. And of course, a bookcase dedicated to books on the supernatural, as well as magic. Like a little mini bookstore.

Stiles ran his fingers along some of the stems of the magic books, each one giving off some kind of electricity. He smirked softly before pulling away and moving back to the couch.

It was weird, being there. It was weird showing up the previous day. Peter was a person Stiles never imagined being around, or even helping. Even less did he imagine Peter helping him.

Sure, there were instances back in Beacon Hills where Peter would..."help," but it was always reluctantly.

But last night...being in the woods with Peter and all, well, Peter had really saved him. In a way. Not that Peter actually fought off all of the hordes of bugs or anything, but he definitely helped. From the injury on the back of Peter's neck, he wasn't certain if he would have fared well against one of those bug bites. It had taken a chuck out of Peter's neck. The hood, it helped. And then Peter led him out of the woods.

Peter led him, didn't leave him. And Stiles was certain there was more behind it, and hell, it might even be another elaborate plot to make Stiles trust him.

And if Stiles was a bit more naive, he might have believed it.

But it was still nice. Peter still...it still helped.

So maybe he was having a bit of a moral dilemma. Should he believe that Peter might have changed, or should he not even flirt with the possibility? Should he ignore it?

The teen tried to get back to work, looked like he was at least paying a little bit of attention to the book while he popped a highlighter cap in his mouth and wiggled it with his tongue. It was better to think while moving; this was something Stiles knew quite well.

After some time, he finally managed to get back to reading about various insects, and while some of them matched certain characteristics of the bug half Peter obtained, none of them looked exactly correct. It was almost like a praying mantis, a roly poly, and a spider had a baby. Really, they were terrifying.

Several disgusted faces and groans later, Peter emerged from the kitchen holding up two bowls.

Immediately, Stiles straightened up, felt himself brighten at the prospect of food. So what would it be today? Some other fantastic meal that he could sink his teeth into? He hadn't really smelled anything cooking, so he wasn't sure. Just a lot of cutting.

Still, he eagerly grabbed the bowl and pulled it toward him, mind wondering just how many things it could be when--

"A salad?"

Peter looked momentarily confused, and then maybe slightly offended. "Correct. I doubt you're actually eating anything of worthwhile you're at school, and vegetables are essential."

"You'd make a great health teacher," Stiles grumbled while sticking his fork into as many leaves of lettuce as he could fit.

Peter sniffed. He sniffed and shook his head like he was in the presence of a barbarian. "I rather thought you would be used to eating healthily. Didn't your father have a heart condition? You constantly nagged him to eat healthy, so I hear."

"Yeah! But I'm not with my dad! This is the point in time where I get to eat all the junk food I want because he's not around and I can get away with it!"

"Well, unless you feel like stopping and getting something on your way home, this is what I made and you'll eat it."

"You're worse than him," Stiles muttered to himself before blowing air through his lips. "It's creepy how much you know about us."

And did Peter smirk? He totally did! He smirked and turned away looking smug as shit. What an asshole. Then, to make it even worse, he sat down _daintily_ on the arm of his chair and perched a leg under himself before adding, "oh, by the way, have you discovered what type of insect our little friend is? You’ve had ample time."

Stiles debated pulling out some of his hair. Except he didn't really want to go bald at 17.

***

After the attack the previous night, Stiles wasn't necessarily a fan of going _back_ into the woods to see if they could coax the bugs out again.

Peter made sure they both had something with a hood, and even made Stiles wear a hat of his so that he could keep his head extra covered. The reason he did this was because "he didn't feel like putting in the effort to cover up Stiles' murder, and people would get suspicious” because Stiles' Jeep was at his apartment building.

Always managed to have an excuse.

The woods seemed darker, or maybe that was just his anxiety, but as they walked slowly back to the crime scene, Stiles felt himself trip over tree roots more often than he had the previous night. Everything was so...ominous.

The teen crept just a little bit closer to Peter, mostly because he didn't want to completely face plant and the wolf was a fairly stable object to grab hold of it he tripped with no chance of savior. But also, Peter could see in the dark, and he was, you know, a person who could keep thousands of bugs from attempting to devour their heads.

"Do you think they'll still be there?" He asked in a too loud whisper.

"I don't know."

"Do you still think you know what it is causing them to collect like that?"

"I have an idea."

"You said that yesterday. Is it the same idea? Is it a darach? Do you think really strong bug spray would keep them away? I should have brought bug spray, I was not thinking very clearly, obviously. Not like I'll be thinking any clearer if I get my head bitten off. Still, do you think they will attack again? I don't think they're smart enough to--"

A hand clasped down tightly over his mouth, and Peter gave him a very pointed, telling glare.

In response, Stiles simply licked his palm. Which, ew, gross, but Peter's reaction was far better. The werewolf sneered and jerked his hand away, wiped it on the front of his coat like Stiles could infect him with something. It was rewarding.

It's the little things that count.

Just as he was getting ready to open his mouth and ask a few more questions, however, they heard a loud clicking noise coming from a clearing not too far away.

They both stopped in place and looked over, quiet, poised, alert. Stiles' heart fluttered in his chest, he was nervous that it might be audible to whatever just made the clicking noise.

Again, the noise sounded, but it didn't sound any closer to them.

Peter held a finger over his lips, signaled silence, and then pointed in the direction of the noise. He was going over, he wanted them both to go over, he actually wanted--No, this was the point in the horror movie where people turned and ran, not actually went and looked for _death_.

But there was no way Stiles was going to look like a coward either. He straightened himself up, nodded, and followed Peter's lead toward the clearing.

He slightly wished he would have been a coward.

This was a bad idea, a bad, bad, bad, bad idea.

Standing in the middle of the clearing was, well, it had the body of a human. Kind of. Maybe just the general shape. But it tilted to the side, swaying slightly in place.

It wasn't facing them, but it did have a head, albeit a completely bald one. And it's skin, well, it kind of had skin mostly around the legs and arms, but the rest of the body was covered in a thick, black coating, like armor. Or a shell.

The creature didn't seem to notice them either. It simply continued to sway, both arms hanging dead at its sides, but it leaned to the right, like the top part of its body was too heavy to hold up.

Stiles glanced at Peter quickly, wondering if there was some kind of recognition on the wolf's face, maybe he knew what it was. But really, the older man was just staring at the creature with some horrified fascination. His eyes were large and he was _smirking_ , taking in the creature like it was his new favorite science experiment.

Stiles wouldn't put it past the wolf to dissect other supernatural creatures for fun.

Probably alive.

Again, it let off a series of quiet clicks, almost like it was talking to itself, debating with itself. Standing alone in the middle of the woods, what else could it be doing?

Neither boy nor wolf seemed ready or willing to move at first. Any more small movements might make the creature take notice to them, and they both knew that was unacceptable. But then how on Earth were they going to take this thing down? They needed to talk to come up with a plan, they obviously hadn't before they left because who expected to meet a giant humanoid bug in the middle of the woods after weird insects chased them out the night before while they were investigating the murder of a girl who had her head eaten by bugs?

Really, they needed to think things through a bit more. Stiles used to be prepared for everything. He was slipping.

Peter managed to glance over at last, catching Stiles' attention. With the smallest signal of his hand that he could manage, he pointed, claws out, to a few thick tree branches on the ground. Stiles could only assume that Peter intended him to use a makeshift version of his bat.

It was brilliant.

But at the same time, with Peter telling him to arm himself, it meant they were attacking the thing.

In Beacon Hills, this would be the part where others would protest, say no, say that maybe it was a person, say that they should try talking to it first, find out if attacking was strictly necessary.  
Except, tonight, in these woods, it was Stiles. Stiles and Peter.

Stiles was supposed to be the moral core, the dictator of right and wrong.

That was not a responsibility Stiles wanted to have, but he also knew what Peter's perspective on the creature would be. Strike hard, strike fast, ask questions later.

Where was Scott when you needed him?

Werewolf speed to its max, Peter sprang forward, fangs at the ready, but nowhere near his beta shift. He had been surprisingly quiet while jumping forward, making his way toward the creature. But he wasn't quiet enough.

Just as he landed, ready to slice his claws through the creature's back, it turned.

Stiles no longer debated morals.

There were multiple eyes on the creature, like a spider, except for two large ones where the temples should be. It didn't have a nose, but in place was a large mouth that opened the wrong direction. Suddenly, it was opening large pinchers out to the sides, the quiet clicking going to an alarmed shriek with no hesitation.

And then everything was moving too quickly. Stiles felt stuck, unable to move, glued to his spot while he watched Peter and the creature almost...dance. Every time Peter would strike, it would move back, or sway from side to side, its entire body wiggling like only a centipede should.

The teen caught a breath he didn't know he was holding in before he jumped for one of the thick branches, picked up it, choked it, and gave a practice swing.

It would work at least.

Just as he turned around, he watched Peter finally make contact, his claws ripping at the thing's shoulder. Except the opposite happened.

Peter brought his hand back, a hiss escaping his lips, but no cut made anywhere on the hard, black shell of the creature. Instead, each one of Peter's claws had ripped off and blood was dripping from his fingertips.

Stiles' stomach gave a queasy jolt.

Remember when he was going to school and this whole violence, blood, and guts problem was a thing of the past?

Him too.

But apparently, the shell on the creature was tougher than rock, since it was able to rip Peter's claws off no problem. The werewolf seemed to have already recovered, new claws growing in. But God, he looked about as pissed off as Stiles had ever seen him.

They moved too fast.

It looked like Peter hit it a few more times, each time came with another hiss from him, and a screech from the creature. It hit him too, at some point, several points. The tips of its fingers pierced into him, his shoulder, his side, his thigh.

Peter growled, it gurgled.

Normally he would help, Stiles would help, he _wanted_ to help. But he knew he was a human; there was only so much he could do, only so fast he could move.

If Peter's claws broke off on its shell, then what was a little tree branch going to do? Really?

As if the universe heard him, Peter brought his fist back, and in a moment of pure fury, slammed it into the chest of the creature.

The entire thing caved in, cracked open, green gunk suddenly pouring from the cracks in the shell.

The creature shrieked, screamed.

Peter stumbled back clutching his arm; the entire thing looked shattered, from fingers, to wrist, the forearm, to elbow, to shoulder. The werewolf growled, his eyes flashed, his breath came in stutters.

The creature charged forward, squealing, and clicking, and hissing. It snapped at the wolf, caught just a pinch of the skin on his neck, slicing it open.

It was going for his head. It was trying to get Peter's head.

Something in Stiles snapped.

The brief fear, the hesitation: it disappeared.

The teen raced forward, shifted the way he held the branch in his hands. He would have one shot at this.

How did they kill the dragon in _The Hobbit_? They aimed for the weakest point in the creature's supposedly impenetrable armor. The spot already pierced.

Stiles gripped the branch as tightly as possible, knuckles turning white with the effort.

"MOVE!" He shouted.

As Peter dodged out of the way, Stiles slammed the broken, pointed end of the branch into the cracks on the chest of the creature, going through armor with a stuttering crunch, the green goo dripping down and coating his hands and wrists.

Even when he knew the branch was well inside the creature, he didn't stop, he pushed, and pushed, used leverage from the ground to lean in, imagined pushing the branch out the creature's back.

The thing hissed, shrieked, attempted to wiggle free when it only seemed to be pushing itself further down onto the branch, its arms reaching for anything, though it wasn't coordinated enough to reach for Stiles, grab him, push him away. It was useless against the source of its pain.

A moment later, Stiles felt a solid weight behind him, a second body, and for a moment he almost leaned against it, but something kept him from it.

Peter stood behind him, his good hand grabbing onto the branch.

The branch burst through the back of the creature's shell with a horrible crack.

And then everything was silence.

Silence but the teen and the wolf, breathing harshly in the night air, both covered in green, sticky insect blood.

Once Stiles came to his senses, he not only realized that he had _just killed something_ and it might have been human, but that Peter's arm wasn't particularly healing like it should either so he didn’t have time for more moral debates.

"Shit dude, you're hurt," he said quickly, moving to take the arm in his hands.

But Peter jerked away, stood up a bit straighter and tried to seem calm even if he was still panting for breath, "it'll heal."

"But it's not!" Stiles stressed, clenched fists falling to his sides.

They were both incredibly stubborn, and one of them was going to win, and the other would lose.

Stiles wasn't going to lose.

"We need to get back," Peter told him.

"We need to check out your arm first!"

"It's _fine_."

"Not until I check it!"

"You're covered in...stuff."

"So are you, that's a poor argument. Now let me see your arm."

Begrudgingly, and halfway through an eyeroll, Peter finally lifted up his arm, rather gingerly, for Stiles to look at. It had to be broken in a few places, bone pulling flesh taut in an uncomfortable and unnaturally pointed way, and there was no way he could bend it at the elbow. But Stiles also doubted it was strong enough to set it himself.

"How can we-how are we-what can I do?" He asked quickly, his hands hovering over Peter's arm like he might be able to sap the pain away from there.

"Wouldn't have happened to learn any healing magic in the past few days?" Peter drawled. He was obviously more amused by the arm than hurt by it. Which was a good sign.

"You do realize that I could probably break it again, right?"

"I'm willing to take the chance."

The two stood there, facing each other, and Stiles finally took a hold of Peter's arm. "We can't take you to a hospital."

"I'll be fine, Stiles," Peter said. And for once, it really sounded reassuring. The werewolf pulled his arm away, dropped it down to his side where it hung, dead.

"I mean, I know you _will_ but..." he sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face.

"Your worry is _touching_. But we should be worrying more about its children."

That wasn't something that had occurred to Stiles. He looked around quickly, wondering if the hoard of insects had crept up on them again like the night before. But now that they had killed the queen, there was no clicking, or hissing, or shrieking around them. Just the quieting breath of two...whatever they were. Not friends but...not not friends.

"You think you could fight them off right now?" He asked, searching the wolf's face for the answer first. But he already knew the answer really.

"Could. But that doesn't mean I would like to," Peter muttered and shifted to look at his other wounds.

"Let’s get you back then, okay?" Stiles asked, but he was already heading in the direction of the Jeep.

When Peter didn't follow, he paused and turned back around. Just as he was about to ask "what gives?" The werewolf motioned to the body on the ground.

"Are we just going to leave this out in the open?" He asked in a bored tone.

Right. The body.

Stiles moved back over, looked down at the bug creature, and wrinkled his nose. It was still twitching. Gross.

For the better part of an hour, the two of them made a slow going process to dig a shallow grave, push the body in, and cover it with dead leaves and dirt. It was a horrible attempt at a grave, but it hid the creature, at least.

"You think we should have burned it instead?" He asked when they were finished. He wiped the dirt off on his pants.

"Not particularly my choice of getting rid of evidence," Peter responded, his voice tight.

Right. No fire.

***

"Go shower," Peter demanded the moment they were back at his apartment. He gestured down the hall to where Stiles knew the bathroom was from earlier in the day. Peter's apartment had, apparently, three bedrooms and two bathrooms. The werewolf walked down the hallway himself, gripping his shoulder, and disappeared after a turn.

Showering in Peter's apartment did not sound ideal.

In fact, it sounded very, very unsafe. Talk about vulnerable in several ways.

But his hands were so sticky they had almost glued themselves to the wheel of his Jeep. He was covered in sweat, and dirt, and maybe Peter's blood, and definitely the insect’s blood.

But he didn't have a spare set of clothes either.

"Hey, Peter I--"

A shirt and a pair of sweatpants were tossed down the hallway, but there was no sight of the werewolf.

He was going to borrow clothes from Peter. He was going to borrow Peter's clothes. Peter's.

This was weird. If anyone back in Beacon Hills knew this right now, they would have heart attacks. What would Scott say if he were here? Well, Scott probably wouldn't have worked with Peter in the first place. But Stiles wasn't Scott, and Peter wasn't Scott, and Scott hadn't even spoken to him in....

With a deep breath in, Stiles stepped into the bathroom. First and foremost, he spent about five minutes simply washing his hands to the point that they wouldn't stick to every piece of fabric he touched. Once they were clean though, he ran out to get the fresh clothes and tip-toed back again.

He took off his socks first, placed his feet on the cool stone beneath him. Almost the entire bathroom was made of the same stone, even the shower. It was interesting, and definitely not something Stiles was used to, but he liked it.

He closed and locked the door behind him, placed the new clothes on the counter, and went to the closet to check for a towel. There were two dark blue towels inside, folded to perfection. Everything in the closet was organized, but there wasn't really all that much. A spare blanket at the top, a few different kinds of gels or shampoos, some lotions, and other products.

It was weird seeing Peter's things laid out like this, knowing what he did in his own home.

Not that it seemed like he used this bathroom often.

Stiles grabbed a towel and closed the closet before he began taking off the rest of his clothes.

He did it slowly, awkwardly, almost ritualistically. Maybe he checked the ceiling for cameras. Okay, he checked a lot of places for cameras, he was paranoid okay?

With none found, however, he turned on the shower and stepped into the warm spray.

Now that...that was perfect. Every muscle in his body seemed to relax the moment he was under the warm water.

Stiles finally caught a breath.

The past two nights had been exhausting, and Stiles wasn’t all that certain how to mentally process them. Over all, he had just killed something, something that might have been human and he wasn’t all that certain if it was or not. Scott would be beyond disappointed in him. But truthfully…he didn’t feel that badly. It had attacked Peter, tried to take his neck, his head, and Stiles didn’t regret attacking it because of that. But that didn’t mean he didn’t have a full night of nightmares ahead of him. He took in a deep breath and pushed the thoughts from his mind. It wasn’t murder. It wasn’t murder. It wasn’t murder. It was self-defense.

A deeper part of him was still far too excited, enjoyed the night far too much. Too much adrenaline and too much anxious elation. He was possibly a little disgusted with this part of him.

When he was finished, and sufficiently smelled of whatever body wash Peter had on the shelf (it smelled like someone stuck a headshop in the middle of the woods, it was musty, woodsy, thick, spicy, and yet strangely relaxing), Stiles walked out of the bathroom in the clothes Peter provided, the towel around his neck.

There was no sight of the werewolf in the living room or the kitchen, so Stiles simply assumed he wasn't done yet. He made his way over to his bookbag and began packing up.

It was close to two in the morning, and he had class in eight hours, which was definitely not enough time to sleep, but he would deal with it. There honestly wouldn’t be much sleep anyway.

There was still just a trace of adrenaline rushing through him, still the buzz of excitement even if he had tried to shower it away. He hadn't really realized how much he missed this, missed the flight or fight response, missed investigating and solving.  
Sure, school was fun and important but this...this was bigger than the future, this was _saving futures_.

Even if he had to take one to save many.

After all, if they hadn't been there, how many other people would the insects have tried to attack? How many would have died?

There was something therapeutic in this, something that Stiles hadn't expected. He glanced down at his hands, realizing that he felt better in this moment than he had since he left Beacon Hills, slight guilt over taking a life aside.

Just as Peter walked into the room, Stiles discovered what the man was to him in this moment.

Stiles' world was a catastrophe, in every way shape and form, and for right now, in the most dangerous ways, Peter was the cure.


	6. So Long, Lonesome

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With their investigation complete, and no reason for Stiles to return, Peter goes back to his every day life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay completion of book one! This is the wrap up of this story. Book two, "How Strange, Innocence" will be up hopefully in a week or two. So keep an eye out for that please!
> 
> I want to thank you all so so so so much! I really appreciate all the kind words! You guys are so great!
> 
> I also want to let you know this chapter was unbeta'd, so I hope it's not a crap storm. CloveeD is rather busy, and I love her and don't want her stressing!
> 
> Oh Peter, he is such a big dumbdumb.

It was done, and it was over.

That was simply the truth of the matter. They had solved the case; they had killed the insect queen. All that was left was to find the little ones and exterminate them, which was something that Peter could handle on his own.

Mostly, this was the end of Stiles' and his partnership.

Stiles had left quickly once they had gotten back from the woods and showered off. There was a quick "thanks" and an even quicker "I need to go, I have class tomorrow." The boy shoved books and clothes into his bookbag and left the apartment. No other parting words to be spared; no intention of waiting for Peter to spare any.

The werewolf had not just been left with silence, but had been left with the persistent, lingering scent of the two of them together.

It wasn't a pleasant experience. But that wasn't because he was disgusted by the scent. In fact, it was quite the opposite.

It had only been made worse by the way his clothes rubbed against the teen's skin, released a concoction of pheromones in the air that was...

Peter had opened up all the windows before walking back into his bedroom after. It only smelled of him there.

Since then, it had been three days, and he hadn’t seen Stiles, or talked to him, or texted him. Not that Peter was keeping track.

His routine had gone right back to normal the next morning. Wake up somewhere around five, go on a run, come home, work on various projects, manage accounts, organize stocks, clean, read, eat somewhere in there. Every day it was the same.

Sure, he was busy enough. Sure, Peter could always find something to entertain him when he wasn't busy.

But it wasn't what he was meant for, what he was raised for.

As a werewolf, he needed a pack. A pack was something that he didn't have.

High-functioning Omega: his new title.

With someone in the apartment with him, it felt more like a pack, and no matter how much he wanted to dampen the instinctual necessity of togetherness, he ached now that the scent of someone else was gone.

Dysfunctional as the Beacon Hills pack was, as much as he was filled with disdain that his family's land was being watched by a sappy-headed teenager who was more concerned about his love life, Peter knew they were still a pack, and he had been a part of it. He could also now feel deep in his bones how he was no longer a part of it.

In the end, Stiles wasn't returning to his apartment, and he needed to accept it again.

It wasn't like Peter really even wanted the teen, specifically, maybe just someone. But they oddly worked together well. Peter had actually found himself defending the teen when they were in the woods, and well, Stiles defended him back. Stiles was worried about his arm.

They had protected each other, and they had won a fight. A werewolf and a human won a fight against creature where the Beacon Hill's pack used to fail constantly. It was refreshing. It felt real, overcoming a large obstacle together, no need to try and compete with others for a dominance that didn’t exist.

But Stiles wasn't coming back. He had no reason to come back.

And the last Peter knew the teen didn't exactly favor him in any way. They were just two people who had been thrown into a situation that both wanted to solve, and once it had been, they had no reason to interact again. They hadn’t spoken before the incident, why would they speak after?

He aired out his apartment again to get rid of any chance Stiles’ scent might have lasted and focused on his routine.

He ran. He ate. He worked. He read. He cleaned. He distracted himself.

Around ten 'til nine PM one night, Peter could swear he heard, or maybe he was imagining, the very familiar sound of the Jeep pulling onto his street and parking in front of the apartment complex.

The werewolf's brow furrowed in momentary confusion, and he ignored the sudden uptake in his heartbeat. It had to be some kind of minor heart problem werewolves were capable of getting, not excitement. Maybe Stiles just came by to give back the clothes?

A moment later, the buzzer sounded, and Peter hesitated, but eventually let him up. Stiles didn't say anything to announce himself, and he didn't say anything on the way up. He even sounded oddly quiet, like he wasn't shifting from foot to foot or shaking his leg or pacing in anxiousness like usual.

Once again, the werewolf opened the door as the elevator doors opened.

And Stiles _smiled_ at him.

It wasn't some special kind of smile; it was a smile between friends. It was a smile shared between two people who were comfortable with each other. It was a smile he used to give Scott or Allison or Lydia.

Then he was walking right on into the apartment, slipping off his shoes and walking over to the couch like he _lived_ there. It was impertinent, it was assumptive, it was uninvited. And really, Peter didn't care.

This was surreal.

"By all means, invite yourself in," he commented, because he couldn't go down without a fight, and cast a look at Stiles who was taking all of his books out of his bookbag. He also took out the pair of sweatpants, but not the shirt. It was interesting.

"Your couch is comfortable," Stiles told him as matter-of-factly as can be. "Plus it's quiet in here."

The apartment suddenly began to smell like the both of them again. Peter closed the door behind him. "And a comfortable couch is the selling factor is it? Are you sure it's not the chance that I'll make you more food?"

"Doesn't hurt," Stiles popped a highlighter cap between his molars and focused particularly intensely on a sentence in one of his text books.

"You do realize how late it is?"

"Could you sound any older right now?"

"Could you sound any more like a freeloader?"

It earned him a glare, but there wasn't much heat behind it. Instead, Stiles pointedly crossed his ankles while placing his heels on the coffee table and shrugged a shoulder.

Very presumptive.

"And what makes you think I'll let you stay?" Peter asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

"My dazzling personality and stunning smile?"

"So you say, but I have yet to see either."

Stiles' cheeks tinted slightly, and Peter wondered for a moment if he had gone too far with his teasing. But the teen recovered with an indignant sniff while purposefully sinking into his book a bit more. And Peter realized that he was stuck with the teen for however long Stiles wanted to stay, for Stiles was too stubborn to leave.

What else could he do but grab a book, sit down in his chair, and simply read?

An hour passed before Stiles looked up from his book and shifted slightly in his spot on the couch. If he went through another bout of stretching like he did the previous time, Peter was not to be responsible for a lecherous look here and there. Not that he ever imagined he had time for relationships, or cared to try and start anything with someone, it just wasn't worth it, but Stiles was gorgeous and flexible and these weren’t hidden facts. Peter could look occasionally, especially if Stiles was coming into his apartment so confidently and making himself right at home.

"When do you normally go to bed?" Stiles asked around his highlighter cap. Really, that was a beautiful sight too.

"Eleven."

"Wow, that's....yeah, that's really early. I don't remember the last time I went to bed that early."

Peter didn't answer. Instead, he closed his book and stood up from the chair to head into the kitchen. As he was getting a glass of water, he heard Stiles move to close his own book and scramble after. The teen was by his side a moment later, grabbing a glass as well.

"Why do I feel like you would like to inquire about something and you're stalling?" The wolf asked, glancing at the teen from the corner of his eye.

Stiles fumbled, even tripped over nothing for just a moment, but held tightly onto the glass in his hand. "What? What? Ask you something? The first question I asked you was the last question I asked you, at least intended to ask you. I'm not intending to ask any more first last questions, so really the only question I asked was the-"

"Stiles."

There was an exasperated sigh, and a very loud gulp of water to try and stall a few moments more. Finally, Stiles shrugged a shoulder. "I was just kind of thinking that maybe, you know, that whole magic thing wouldn't be such a bad idea. I don't have the pack down here, and I just feel that...if there happens to be any more supernatural occurrences, it wouldn't be such a bad idea to be prepared."

"It's why I gave you the book. Now what's your question?"

The teen took another sip of water and looked into the glass. He was debating something with himself, that much was certain. But what exactly was he debating? It was irritating. "I can't read it. And you seemed to at least know the first line...so, will you at least teach me enough of the words to start?"

That wasn't...that wasn't what Peter expected. He looked at the boy a moment. It was an honest request, and though Stiles' heart was racing faster than its normal rabbit-esque pace, that didn't mean he was lying. He was nervous. He wasn't sure if Peter would say yes, let alone know if he should actually ask the wolf to teach him. It was dangerous, Peter was dangerous, magic was dangerous, and Stiles was unsure to what level of danger he should be getting himself into.

How much danger should Peter let him get into?

"Fine," the wolf answered simply. He shrugged a shoulder and headed back out to his chair.

"Fine? That's it?"

"Fine."

"Well...okay then," Stiles answered, sitting softly back on the couch and folding his legs onto the seat with him. He hesitated a moment more before adding, "but my studies come first. I can't lose my scholarship, because my dad would kill me and I wouldn't be able to go here anymore if that happened. And you do not get to boss me around, this is a mutually beneficiary relationship. You help me with magic, I help you with the supernatural crap."

"And who said I wanted a part in this 'mutually beneficiary relationship'?"

"You did. When you told me to come with you into the woods."

Peter felt his lips curl in a smirk, or maybe a smile, an actual smile. He couldn't really tell. But the truth was, he was beaten in this round of banter, and he couldn't be more proud. "I suppose so," Peter answered thoughtfully. "Fine. As I said, you need to memorize the first spell at the birth of the day. Get to my apartment by five in the morning on Saturday."

"Saturday?!"

Peter gave the boy a look, because he was not going to argue about this. Even though, he was aware, it was Stiles' prime day to sleep in. The boy groaned and ran a hand messily through his hair. "We're going to need the entire day, and I don't want you worrying about classes while you're trying to focus on magic. It might surprise you that you _actually have to pay attention_ when learning magic. Too much can go wrong otherwise."

"Fine," Stiles grumbled, and was he pouting? He looked just a little like he was pouting. Something Peter also felt a bit proud of. Besides, a moment later, Stiles got this soft little smile on his face, like he was trying to keep it hidden while he stared down at his textbook. He watched his hands, wiggled his fingers a bit, like he was imagining all that they could do when he finally was able to use magic. Like he hadn't expected Peter to say yes, like he wouldn't have learned otherwise and yet now, with this answer, he was going to make something of himself, become something he's always wanted to be.

He exuded the smell of happiness, pleasure, even a little pride. The smell swirled around him, permeated through the air, and reached Peter, where the werewolf calmed, and observed, and absorbed.

He made someone smell that happy. That never happened. It was interesting to be around, to feel, to smell.

Humans never learned how to dampen their scents, never learned how to control their emotions so that it was harder to tell exactly just how they were affected by certain situations. And Stiles had always been someone who was almost overwhelming with the scents that he produced, because he felt so strongly, so quickly, and in excess.

It almost made Peter feel light headed. The werewolf took a couple of shallow breaths before clearing his throat and putting the glass on the end table. Maybe he should open a window again?

"Well, that's settled then. You'll arrive at five and begin to memorize. The memorization can most likely last until around ten in the morning. Go home, rest. I'll come to you at sunset to start practicing, seems only fair?" Peter suggested. This would be a lot of time spent together, and he wanted to make sure Stiles was certain. They might have to spend days together eventually, until Stiles could handle it on his own, if that was ever possible.

The teen nodded, and seemed to make a note of it on a small piece of paper, his pleased smell turning into one of excitement, actually joy, and exuberance. It was warming.

"Then that's settled," Peter mentioned, and then cocked his head to the side slightly. They had more to deal with. "Now, about our little bug problem we still need to address. I was going to head out tonight to get the rest of the brood?"

He didn’t even have to ask if Stiles would join him. The teen grinned and practically slapped his textbook closed. "Count me in!"

Stiles began to shove his books into his bag, then he grabbed his empty glass of water and walked it into the kitchen before he ran for the bathroom. Just as the door closed, Stiles' phone buzzed to life on the coffee table, a conversation in blue and yellow flashing brightly.

Peter leaned over just far enough to see, in blue, with Stiles' picture next to it at the top of the conversation, a small message saying "you know, all of a sudden, I really miss everyone." Sent at 5 PM.

In yellow, with a picture of a lopsided, goofy grinned face, the famous True Alpha Scott Mccall, with a short message back in response. "We miss you too." Sent just now, five hours later.

Peter let out a small breath, watched the phone's screen darken again. It wasn't necessarily that Stiles wanted to spend time with him then, was it? It was that Peter was pack, and Peter was the closest thing to pack that Stiles was able to reach out here. He was lonely, and he ached for Beacon Hills. He had been trying to think of a way to connect to Scott again, and that little message was how he decided to break the ice.

And that wasn't a problem, it wasn't like Peter was bothered by it.

But he wouldn't be used as a substitute for Scott McCall.

It was then and there, that Peter decided that he needed to be something more, not just a tie to the pack that Stiles was craving so much of. Peter needed to find his way to Stiles' good side, and he needed to stay there. Call it a kind of investment in a spot in the McCall pack if he should so want to return to Beacon Hills. Call it a more superior place over Scott, at last, in the heart of someone Scott cared for so much. Peter would slip his way in and attach himself with claws and fangs dug in deep.

Stiles had a lot to offer Peter in general, not that he had allowed himself to think of just what while they were doing their recent investigation. Peter didn't imagine they would spend more than the few days together it took to take down the creature. But things were starting to seem a little bit more permanent.

And really, Stiles offered something incredibly important that Peter wouldn't let himself think of at all. It made him feel far too vulnerable.

The teen walked out of the bathroom, flashed him a grin, flung the bag over one shoulder, and slipped his phone into his back pocket, all while chanting. "Into the woods, and down the dell, the path is straight, I know it well. Right, Big Bad Wolf?"

Smirking, Peter shook his head and headed for the door. "I am not singing _Into The Woods_ with you," He warned. Then added, for appearances sake, "Little Red."

Stiles momentarily froze, though his grin was still in place. He shook it off, and then hurried quickly after Peter.

The werewolf glanced back at his companion, who he was apparently not getting rid of. Stiles vibrating with excitement of what the rest of the night could hold. He would be teaching the teen magic as well. His days would no longer be the same droning nothingness that they had been.

He could certainly say goodbye to the pleasant silence of his apartment. But really, Peter knew, he was saying goodbye to something entirely different. And Stiles was too.

So long, lonesome.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End Book I.
> 
> Feel free to join me on tumblr at Thebooklegger! It's not strictly Teen Wolf or anything though, just a warning.


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